


Handwriting On The Wall

by DaydreamDestiel, skyhighjelly



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, Fae Castiel, Fae Dean Winchester, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Incubus Castiel, M/M, Masturbation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Punk Castiel, Temporary Character Death, Top Castiel, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Virgin Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-02-17 15:06:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 48,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13079493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaydreamDestiel/pseuds/DaydreamDestiel, https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyhighjelly/pseuds/skyhighjelly
Summary: The first thing you needed to know was that Dean was a fire elemental, which basically meant he was able to call, you know, fire. Sounded pretty cool on the surface, except his powers’d manifested earlier than most. Problem with that was, preschoolers weren’t really able to control their feelings, and unfortunately elements were linked to emotions. To say that Dean was forced to learn control would’ve been an understatement. He structured his whole world to maintain it.The second factor of importance was that on your 18th birthday you woke up with your soulmate’s name lit up behind your closed eyelids. A flash of brilliant red cursive and then it was gone. The why didn’t really matter much, the results spoke for themselves: The morning of Dean's eighteenth birthday he came to with startling clarity as the name Castiel Novak blazed in handwritten script inside his eyelids. Everyone in school knew Cas Novak. Typical bad boy incubus. Way more than Dean could handle, not that it mattered. Because even if Cas wanted him, which he doubted, Dean was too dangerous to let himself get close to anyone.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> DaydreamDestiel: Hi guys! I've been dying to share this with you for a while now! This is the project I've been working on with [@peanutbutter-jelly-fish](http://peanutbutter-jelly-fish.tumblr.com). She came up with some really amazing ideas that really helped shape the direction of this story on top of the absolutely gorgeous artwork she's been creating for it. 
> 
> Working with her is so much fun and I'm incredibly glad we decided to do this. 
> 
> Anyway, buckle up for a long, slow burn, fae au. <3 We're gonna do our best to update weekly.

 

* * *

Morning sickness didn’t just strike in the morning, Mary Winchester had quickly discovered, much to her misfortune. Round the clock random bursts of nausea had been kicking her ass for the last month, ever since right around when she skipped a period. She’d never been late before, not by more than a day or two, anyway, and after a week, well, she was pretty sure even before she went to her doctor’s appointment. Mary was ecstatic and terrified and so nervous about telling John. They wanted this, they’d planned this, but…  

This was huge and life changing and Mary might’ve been silently freaking out about it because holy crap. She was gonna be a mom and John was gonna be a dad. And that was just… a lot to take in. A major shift in their tiny little family. Plus, there was the whole impending process of giving birth. Because _that_ was mildly horrifying. In the end, though, it’d be worth it. She just knew it. Inside of her a tiny little life was growing and she couldn’t wait to meet him or her.

When John had found out, he’d been over the moon. He’d laughed excitedly and kissed her breathless and then he’d dropped to his knees and pressed a gentle kiss to her stomach—told her he was saying hi to the little guy and her heart melted all over again at those gorgeous eyes filled with love.

From the start, John’d been convinced they were having a boy. Mary didn’t much care either way, and when you got down to it, neither did John. He just liked the idea of having a son. He wouldn’t love a daughter any less, Mary knew.

Stubbornness wasn’t just a Winchester family trait, the Campbell’s had it in spades too. So Mary was sure, that like his mom and dad, her little bean was gonna be a force to be reckoned with. Said stubbornness was the reason that Mary found herself in the middle of the woods, just outside their campsite curled over in the dirt and emptying the contents of her lunch onto the forest floor.

Last week, John’d suggested that they cancel their plans to go camping because of Mary’s ‘state’ and well, that’d rubbed her the wrong way. She was pregnant not bedridden. Just because she got nauseous sometimes didn’t mean she couldn’t still go have _fun._ Despite what John obviously thought, she could still do things that she wanted to. So she’d out stubborned John, and they’d gone camping in the end.

There was a possibility, Mary thought, leaning back against a nearby tree and closing her eyes while she caught her breath—a _small_ possibility—that just this once… John might’ve been right. He didn’t say a thing though, when she finally got back to camp and instantly set about brushing her teeth. He just pulled her into his lap when she was done and held her.

Thankfully, she made it through the rest of the day without another incident, and by the time it got dark out, Mary was beyond ready to sleep. She crawled into her sleeping bag next to John and fell asleep with his thickly muscled arm as her pillow.

The next time she woke up, it was still dark and for a second she wondered why she was awake until her bladder swiftly alerted her to the pressing need to pee. She sighed and quietly extricated herself from her sleeping bag, trying not to wake John as she unzipped the tent and crawled outside. The air was colder than it had been inside and she shivered as she made her way to the campground’s washrooms.

It was eerie in the dark, with just a flashlight that she’d grabbed on her way out of their tent to light the way. Clouds that were thick in the sky above meant no moon or stars brightened up the path. Twigs snapped to her left, and Mary spun to face the noise, fist bunched at her side and ready to defend herself but nothing happened. She stared into the woods for a minute, flashlight barely making a dent in the shadows and then she sighed in relief.

A quick trip to the bathroom later and she was on her way back when she walked smack into someone. An old man caught her before she could fall, steadied her and Mary’s heart thumped wildly in her chest, a scream locked in her throat. She was half scared out of her mind until she really looked at him—suddenly, she was caught in his brilliant green eyes, swirls of caramel and flecks of yellow, somehow she knew everything was going to be fine.

In slow motion he reached his weathered hands up, softly cupped her cheeks and offered her a smile that bordered on sad. Her heart ached with the emotion in his eyes and he hadn’t spoken a word to her, but something about him felt timeless and so much older than the body she saw in front of her.  
  
From somewhere inside of him, blue flames erupted, dancing along his skin in spirals and whorls that leapt from him and bridged the gap between them. Mary's body seemed to be absorbing whatever magic he was putting out and she watched, still unafraid as she saw it happen until she was forced to close her eyes against a bright white flare of blinding light before everything went completely dark.  
  
The next morning Mary woke slowly, stretched in the morning light that flooded in through her bedroom window. She cuddled down under the covers, into the warmth of John’s body next to her. Hazy with sleep, it took her a long second to remember why something felt off—wrong with this picture. _Camping._

She bolted upright and blinked, took in the familiar surroundings of their bedroom, confused. Had she dreamt the whole damn thing? Her hand slipped protectively down to her stomach as she shivered at the memory of paper-thin skin against her cheeks and blue fire that didn’t burn.


	2. Chapter 2

 

* * *

Eighteen wasn't so old in the grand scheme of things—not really. The day before his eighteenth birthday though, it felt pretty damn old to Dean. It felt like a lie. He doubted that at midnight some switch was gonna flip and he'd suddenly feel like the adult the calendar said he'd be.

As he blinked all the way awake and hit the off button on his alarm, Dean groaned. Eighteen wasn't so old, but eighteen was scary. It meant you woke up with a name, the most important one you'd ever learn according to every single fae ever. Every fae but Dean; he didn't _need_ a soulmate. He couldn't be that close to anyone, so whatever was coming the morning after this—Dean tried hard not to think about.

Instead he got out of bed, went and showered and got himself ready for school just like any other morning. He was hell-bent on keeping his emotions in check, on getting through the day with as little commotion as possible. He dressed himself in a fairly typical outfit for him: nondescript dark blue jeans, a plain black t-shirt and a blue plaid button up left open. One step of his routine at a time, he told himself, he just needed to focus on that.

After he'd quickly styled his hair, he headed downstairs to face the torture that was gonna be breakfast. Tomorrow would be infinitely worse but today was gonna suck ass too. He knew before he even made it to the kitchen that the next few days were gonna take a lot of patience to get through, and he tiredly rubbed his hand over his eyes as he steeled himself to face his well-meaning family. Then he headed into the kitchen.

Quietly, he sank into the seat next to Sam and kept his head down, hoping they'd all keep their questions and advice or whatever to themselves if he didn't look up but no such luck. His mom cleared her voice and Dean suppressed a sigh. He glanced up at her and almost sighed again at the huge smile on her face.

“Morning,” she greeted him brightly, cheerful in a way that always grated on Dean’s nerves until he'd been fed. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah. Morning,” he mumbled much less cheerfully as he poured Lucky Charms into the bowl in front of him, sparing a glance over at Dad, who was at least pretending to read the paper like it was any other day.

Mom sighed and Dean counted backwards from ten, reminding himself that she was just happy for him and like most people she thought he oughta be excited too. Even if she knew all the reasons he wasn't.

“Well,” she said as she tucked a short strand of wavy blonde hair behind her ear, “I had a rough night.” There were dark purple shadows under her eyes that Dean hadn't noticed until she said it. “I kept thinking about how little you used to be. Remember that shirt you practically lived in for a year?”

“Mom,” Dean complained, concern replaced with a tiny flash of irritation as Sam snickered.

“You mean the one with the little teddy bear?” Dad asked with a barely suppressed grin as he looked up from the paper, and Dean shoved a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. “Said 'I wuv hugs’.”

Ugh. Sam outright laughed at that and Dean glared at him with fake outrage, totally calm inside, but he knew this routine, “Haha. Laugh it up, jerk. You know who wore that shirt after me?”

Sam's face distorted in a quick grimace before he ducked down and shovelled his own cereal into his mouth instead of answering. The Winchester method of coping with disturbing facts #1.

“The joy of hand-me-downs,” Mom added with a smirk. “Anyway, I was thinking about how tomorrow you're practically grown up and it's crazy, right John? I mean, how did we get so _old?”_

“You're not old, mom!” Sam exclaimed like the little kiss ass he was.

Okay, so Dean was maybe holding a grudge over the teasing, but they knew how focused he needed to be. Emotionally charged situations could have negative effects on him and that included getting pissed off. Teenage hormones seemed to make it an uphill battle for him most days as far as finding his center went. He didn't need them making it worse.

“Sorry, honey,” Mom said softly as she reached across the table and rested her hand on his. “I'll stop teasing. I'm just excited for you. Eighteen's a big deal, you know? It'll be good for you, I just know it. You'll finally have a friend!”

Dean's irritation deflated like a flat tire at the honest hope in her voice.

“Sure, Mom,” he replied almost like he actually believed it. She knew as well as he did though, that there was a damn good reason he didn't have any friends.

He couldn’t be trusted to have friends—or at the very least, he didn’t trust himself enough around other people to even consider making one. As far as Dean was concerned, no one else should trust him either. As much time as he spent wishing he was normal, the fact was, he never would be. He just wished his family would get that too. Maybe then they'd let go of any pipedreams they had that someday he'd be just like everyone else.

You’d think that they’d all see him for what he was. They were, after all, the people who saw the most of him. They were the people who’d been there the night he’d proven just how truly broken he was, how toxic.

It didn’t matter that he’d only been four years old when it’d happened. In Dean’s mind, he should’ve known better, he should’ve somehow controlled himself. That he'd accidentally called his magic way too early, and caught his bed on fire ‘cause he couldn't handle six month old Sammy's constant crying at night? He should've somehow prevented it. If he hadn't gotten so upset, if he hadn't been so angry, maybe he'd be a normal teenage boy right then instead of a freak.

He could still remember the look on Mom's face when she'd run into his room, the horror in her eyes as she'd looked at him. Dean could still smell the thick scent of smoke when he thought about that night and he remembered the way everything had gone from hazy slow motion to real time in a sudden rush of color and sound.

The roughness in Dad's voice as he'd grabbed Mom's shoulder, handed her a terrified baby Sam whose tearful hazel eyes were locked on Dean. “Take him and get out of the house! I'll get Dean.”

Blue flames had danced shadows across Dad's face as he'd coughed in the smoke, coaxed Dean forward even though he was too scared to walk through the flames. Afraid he'd get burned.

“They won't hurt you, Dean. I promise,” Dad had told him, voice strong and so sure that Dean had believed him. “They're yours buddy, they can't.”

With a sob that was wrenched from deep in his chest, Dean had thrown himself forward through the fire, right into Dad's arms. He'd clung tightly while Dad rushed them out of his room and watched over his shoulder as the flames had spread out of control, licking up the walls and kissing the ceiling before he buried his face in Dad's neck and failed in his attempt not to cry.

After that all he remembered was the cold of being outside in his pajamas while their house burned down—the flash of ambulance and firetruck lights, scratchy blankets wrapped around their shoulders and falling asleep in the middle of the chaos with a heavy, guilty heart.

What followed that terrible night was awful weeks of nightmares as he worked with a specialist in premature power manifestation. Dr. Lafitte was the one who’d carefully explained to Dean what'd happened that night. Most people didn't develop the ability to call their power until they reached puberty. Every once in awhile though, someone defied expectations and manifested early.

The problem with that, he learned, was that kids like him had a hard time keeping control of how they felt and that was normal. Kids didn't have the tools, Dr. Lafitte had told him, to control themselves the way they needed to in order to keep their powers from activating accidentally.

What that meant was that if Dean wasn't extremely careful he could hurt someone by accident, especially since Dean appeared to be a fire elemental. Fire was dangerous, Dean knew that. The guilt over costing them the only home he'd ever known had burned hot in his stomach.

Dr. Lafitte had done his best to console Dean that day, he'd tried to convince Dean that it wasn't his fault, but even at four Dean knew it was. There was something was wrong with him. Good kids didn't burn down their houses. They didn't almost kill their whole families ‘cause a baby was crying and they couldn't sleep.

Over the years, Dr. Lafitte taught him how to keep himself calm in appointments that started out daily but had tapered off to once weekly as he'd gotten older and while Dean’d had a few close calls, he was lucky enough that he'd never had another incident.

Some days it was a close thing, though. Close enough that Dean knew he couldn't risk anyone's safety by acting like he was normal, like he was safe to be around. So he didn't have friends, and he didn't date despite the fact that just like any other teenager he was dying to. What Dean wanted didn't matter. It would never matter ‘cause what everyone else deserved was for Dean to keep them safe from himself.

Lost in thought, Dean finished up his breakfast and then excused himself from the table. He went back upstairs and grabbed his homework from where he'd left it on the desk in his room and stuffed it in his backpack. A huge part of him wanted to crawl back into the warmth and comfort of his bed, curl up under his navy blue blanket instead of going to school, but he couldn't so he trudged back downstairs.

“Hurry up, Sam,” he called from the front door as he slipped his boots on. “Time to get going.”

“Yeah, yeah!” Sam annoyingly called back.

Dean didn't let it bother him though, he just put his winter jacket on. A simple hand-me-down leather one from his dad. One perk of being a fire elemental was that he ran hot, and didn't get cold easily. Not that he was immune to winter temperatures, but he never really needed a puffy winter jacket like Sam did.

Kid was an air elemental like Mom, though so far Sam couldn't do much more than summon a gentle breeze. Some of the kids at his school had been picking on him lately for it, but Dean had taken care of that pretty easily. Nothing like showing up to get Sam and letting it slip that anyone who messed with his little brother was taking their life into their own hands to scare kids four years younger than him into fucking off.

He hadn't even gotten angry, though he wasn't sure if that was a testament to his own control or their total fear of him. Either way, Sam'd said they'd backed off and that was the point of it all, so Dean felt better nowadays when he dropped Sam off. He didn't feel like he had to worry about him as much.

On cue, Sam stomped out into the entryway, pulled on his boots and black down jacket. He followed Dean out to the car, and they climbed in.

“So, you wanna talk about it?” Sam asked as soon as Dean pulled out of the driveway.

Dean shot him a look that said are-you-fucking-kidding and Sam smirked, but he dropped it.

He ruffled his hand through his hair and said, “Just asking. Not like you have anyone else to talk to, so you might as well talk to me. Plus I care, Dean.”

Caring too much did seem to be a Sam Winchester curse. He was always trying to take care of Dean in some way like he was the big brother, when that was definitely Dean's job. The one purpose he seemed to have, keep Sam safe—keep his family safe.

“It's nothing, Sammy.” Dean flashed him a small smile. “Just nervous and I'd rather focus on something else, okay? Why don't you tell me about your science project with Sarah?”

And that wound up being the perfect conversation changer, because Sam's crush on Sarah Blake was an open secret. He hadn't come out and admitted it or anything, but Sam talked about her all the time. The discussion about their project ate up the rest of the drive.

From the curb Sam waved to him with a big smile and Dean dutifully waved back. He watched Sam walk up to a group of his friends before he pulled away, heading for his own school. And he definitely pointedly ignored the little surge of jealousy in his gut. What self respecting person was jealous of their pipsqueak of a little brother, anyway? Even if he was jealous, he shouldn't've been. Sam was a great kid, he deserved to have good friends.

The rumble of the Impala as Dean drove into his school's parking lot didn't garner curious glances anymore. Two years of driving it meant everyone knew it was just him. And like most days, just him didn't warrant so much as a flick of their glances.

At school Dean was invisible. People didn't see him and he didn't _want_ to be seen. No one talked to him, no one even noticed him. That was the way it needed to be. He might not've _liked_ it but the alternative was worse. Kids who developed their powers early had much more difficulty controlling them—everyone knew that. Just like everyone knew to stay away from him because of it.

Even with early intervention like Dean’d had, too much emotional upheaval could trigger their element. People were right to be afraid of him. So Dean had cultivated a life where he felt as little as possible. Where he didn't get excited and he didn't get upset. Where the only things that marked the passage of his day were the subjects he studied and the breaks that he spent alone.

It'd stopped hurting years ago, that feeling of isolation. He'd learned to live with it. Dean’d made his peace with the necessity of being alone. These days he barely even recognized the muted, dull ache in his chest as loneliness because he was so used to the way that it felt to be constantly all on his own.

In class, he did well, but not exceptionally—by choice. If he did too well, they might wanna skip him up a grade, or he could get recognition, attention, and he couldn't handle the pressure of that. His whole world had been so rigidly controlled for so long that he was mildly panicked over how he'd handle finding out who his soulmate was tomorrow.

It made him anxious, but he kept himself from getting too worked up. He told himself that even once he knew, he didn't _have_ to do anything about it. There was no rule that said he had to.

Knowing who your soulmate was didn't make you automatically fall in instant love with them. You still had to find them, get to know them. Just like any relationship it was work. The only difference was you knew the odds were already in your favor. That you somehow belonged together.

Only Dean didn't _belong_ with anyone. All he'd bring someone was heartache and suffering. A lifetime of walking on eggshells and waiting for the other shoe to drop. Who wanted to worry that an argument with their soulmate could result in potential damage to their stuff, or worse: unintended injuries.

But hey, there was always the chance that Dean was among the very, very rare fae who didn't get matched… yeah right. Like Dean's luck had ever been _that_ good.

He sighed heavily and pressed his forehead to the cool metal of his locker. Dean breathed in slow and deep to calm his racing heart. The prickle of eyes on him tingled at the back of his neck—unusual enough that Dean tensed at the feeling and whipped around to scan the hallway.

There were too many people to figure out who it'd been, and no one was still watching but it left him ruffled and he had to make himself calm down again for long minutes before he unlocked his locker and got on with his day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DaydreamDestiel: In my excitement I forgot to add my notes. Haha. But here they are: 
> 
> I'm probably never gonna stop squeeing about the awesome art that [@peanutbutter-jelly-fish](http://peanutbutter-jelly-fish.tumblr.com) has created for this fic, so please give her some love. <3 
> 
> As always I'd love to hear what you think in the comments or over on Tumblr [@daydreamdestiel](http://daydreamdestiel.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DaydreamDestiel: I promise that one of these days I'll remember to add my notes before I hit post. Lol. That day is not today. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy and please make sure to give [@peanutbutter-jelly-fish](http://peanutbutter-jelly-fish.tumblr.com) lots of love for her beautiful art. <3

 

* * *

Bright blazing red script behind his eyelids woke Dean up on a gasp—Castiel Novak scrawled in lazy handwriting, and then a red-tinted flash of his face, not that Dean needed it to recognize the name.

Cas Novak. His soulmate was Cas…  Novak. Of all the people in the whole freakin’ world, he got a guy he went to school with. An extremely hot guy with dark messy hair, deep blue eyes that were intense and perpetually lined with thick black eyeliner, piercings, tattoos… a guy who probably barely even knew who Dean was, just like everyone else.

Oh, except… well… Cas’d had his birthday back in September. Dean’d been in the cafeteria when Charlie Bradbury smashed a cupcake in Cas's face while she loudly sang Happy Birthday to him, much to the amusement of nearly everyone in the room.

Goodnaturedly, Cas’d laughed it off. Loud and infectious, and even Dean had smiled a little—wistful for a second. He'd wondered what it would be like to have friends like Cas's. People who cared enough that they celebrated your birthday.

So, then, if Cas’s birthday had already gone by he must’ve known Dean was his soulmate this whole time. Only, he hadn’t said anything.…

Dean's stomach dropped. Bitter rejection stung, even if he'd planned to do the same thing when he found out who his soulmate was: ignore that he knew. His intentions were different though—he wanted to spare Cas the pain of being saddled with him.

But of course Cas hadn't said anything. Who would wanna find out they were meant for a loser like Dean? Not to mention that settling down at all didn’t really seem like Cas’s style. Being an incubus and all, Cas got around. He never had a problem finding a partner as far as Dean could tell. Either a side effect of his good looks or the natural charm that being born an incubus seemed to impart on a person.

It was kind of screwed up that fate would assign someone like Dean to be with someone like Cas. Dean was about a zillion steps below Cas in the social order of things, and Cas was so far out of Dean's league that they were basically playing different sports. Or more accurately, Cas was like a star quarterback and Dean was someone who half-heartedly listened to the game on TV at home in the background while he did something else. They were worlds apart and they made no sense together.

Plus, it looked as if Cas knew that just like Dean did. Had he even looked at Dean twice when he’d found out? Dean wracked his brain to think of even a single time that Cas's bright blue eyes had been focused on him and he came up with squat. Why’d he even care, anyway?

Ultimately, it culminated in the fact that it didn't mean anything at all. Cas hadn't said anything to him and that spoke louder than words. He didn't want Dean.

After a few morose minutes spent feeling crappy about his life, Dean got ready for school and headed downstairs. He could smell cooking food as soon as he opened his door, and his stomach rumbled even while apprehension flooded him.  

He walked into the kitchen and found Dad at the stove, spatula in hand and a smirk on his face as he glanced up at Dean.

“Hey, champ,” Dad said brightly. “Made scrambled eggs and sausages. Go sit down. Should be ready in another minute or so.”

“Thanks.”

Mom smiled as Dean sat down at the table. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

Habitually, Dean forced a smile onto his face, “Thanks, Mom.”

After that, Dean kept expecting her to ask the big question or pry but she didn't. She was weirdly unobtrusive and talked about the plans her and Dad had for the weekend. Something about a reunion party with some of their friends from high school, but Dean was only half paying attention.

Dad plated up the food and brought it over, small grin on his face that Dean did his best to ignore. The food smelled great and Dean squirted ketchup onto his eggs, then poured maple syrup over his sausages in a time honored tradition.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean noticed that Sammy kept looking over at him under his bangs with the same little smile Dad had and Dean thought he needed a freakin’ haircut. He ignored him too and dug in, pretending that he couldn't see the way everyone was just dying to ask him who his soulmate was and did he know them and what was he gonna do.

Despite the thick tension from his family actually holding back their prying for once, though Dean had no idea why, they got through breakfast with some small talk from everyone but Dean. When he finished the last salty-sweet bite of sausage, he took his dishes to the sink and rinsed them off before he put them in the dishwasher.

While he was in the middle of leaving, Mom stopped him to ruffle his hair and cup his cheeks like it was the last time she was gonna see him. Dean had to shove down a flash of annoyance and focus on keeping his emotions under control. God, Cas was _already_ fucking his life up and he hadn't even _done_ anything. He said bye to Mom as politely as he could manage and beat a hasty retreat out the door.

In the car there was blessed silence for all of  five minutes until Sam broke it.

“So, who is it? Do you know them?” Sam questioned excitedly.

A sigh involuntarily burst from Dean’s lips, but he figured he might as well tell him the truth.

“Cas Novak,” Dean admitted, sparing a quick look over just in time to catch Sam's eyes bug out.

“Wow. Cas Novak? Seriously?” Sam asked, this uncomfortably awed tone in his voice that definitely didn't belong there.

“Do I look like I'm joking?” Dean demanded, brows drawn down in frustration.

“Okay… not joking then. So, guess it's kind of cool you already know him. Don't have to wonder if you'll ever find him, at least,” Sam said, ever the optimist, and Dean almost hated to burst his bubble. Almost.

“Except that his birthday was in September and he hasn't said a word to me since then, so.…”

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam frown. “Oh.”

“Yeah, _oh.”_

For a moment Sam paused, like he was wracking his brain to come up with a reason for Cas's behavior. “Maybe he's just shy?”

Skeptically, Dean raised an eyebrow. “We _are_ talking about the same Cas Novak right?”

“Yeah, okay, no,” Sam said, they both knew Cas Novak and shy didn't belong in the same paragraph let alone the same sentence. “But there's probably lots of reasons.”

Dean counted backwards from ten, took slow deep breaths and focused on staying calm. Sam wasn't trying to upset him. Sam was just being Sam. It wasn't his fault that he was annoyingly persistent and continually looking for the bright side of things.

“Doesn't matter. Works out for me anyway.” Dean shrugged his shoulders and pursed his lips. He tightened his knuckles on the steering wheel.

“Dean you _deserve—”_

 _“Deserving_ ain't got nothin’ to do with it Sam. It's just how it is. Just—leave it alone, okay?” Dean interrupted, resigned and tired, just done with this whole conversation. This whole thing, actually.

For the rest of the drive, Sam was silent which suited Dean just fine. He didn't like that Sam was sulking, but he wasn't about to keep rehashing the same shitty set of facts with him for the millionth time.

As he got out of the car, Sam gave him one last pathetically sad puppy dog look along with his quiet goodbye. Dean wished he didn't feel so freakin’ guilty, but he there was a pit in his stomach that didn't ease up until he leaned over and rolled down the window on the door Sam'd slammed shut.

“Hey, Sam!” Sam glanced over his shoulder at him. “Thanks.”

That earned him a half-smile and a wave that dissipated the tightness in Dean's chest enough that he felt like he could get himself under better control. He took the long way from Sam's school to his, giving himself time to calm down even more. Inhaling deep breaths, he listened to Metallica’s Nothing Else Matters while he drove.

The slow steady beat and familiar vocals soothed his jagged edges until Dean pulled into a parking space at school. He let the end of the song play out before he finally cut the engine and sighed into the quiet. He glanced at himself in the rearview and his mouth twisted with self-disgust. Green eyes stared accusingly at him, and then he looked away.

He hadn't needed to take the long way like that in ages. That he couldn't handle himself without it felt like a failure on his part. This thing with Cas shouldn't have been messing with him so much… only, it was. His baseline was already elevated, and he hadn't even gone inside the school.

What if Cas actually tried to talk to him? With Dean's luck, he'd spontaneously light himself on friggin’ fire and burn down the whole damn school or something. Idly, he wondered if his parents would stop pressuring him to make friends then.

Eventually, Dean had to admit the odds of any of that happening were infinitesimally low. Cas wasn't gonna talk to him in the first place. He hadn't yet, and as far as Cas probably knew this was just any other day. There was nothing special about it to anyone who didn't know Dean.

Besides, if Cas ever actually did try and talk to him, Dean could just do what he always did whenever the rare occasion that people tried to talk to him popped up: be boring until they left him alone again. One word answers and blank stares were always his best bets.

Most people didn't have the patience or desire to pry more out of Dean than that. A guy like Cas? Didn't seem like the taking things slow to get to know you kinda person. At the first sign of resistance, he'd probably pack it in and call it a day. Dean had nothing to worry about. At least that's what he told himself.

‘Cause the other thing he had to contend with was this weird lurch in his gut when he thought about how much easier it would be if Cas just never talked to him at all—if they both just kept on pretending they didn't know. That was the ideal scenario, but the way Dean's stomach rebelled at it confused him. He oughta be happy with that outcome, oughta at least be ambivalent about it.

So, why did it make him feel a little sick?

With one last sigh heaved, Dean tugged on the door handle and pushed his door open. He slid smoothly from his seat, grabbing his backpack in his right hand and pulling it with him as he went. His shoulders involuntarily hunched a little once he pulled his bag onto his back and slammed the door shut. Like he was caving in on himself, he supposed he was in a way.

At school his best defense was always to draw as little attention to himself as possible, and his last growth spurt had left him taller than a lot of his classmates. He was slowly bulking out a little to fit his frame, but he was generally uncomfortable with how big he felt. He wasn't a fan of how he blended a little less easily into the background nowadays.

Logically, hunching his shoulders wasn't gonna do jack all to make him smaller, but it was mostly unconscious and whenever he did notice himself doing it, he didn't really care to correct it.

There was a steady trickle of people headed in through the front doors as Dean locked up the Impala and he slipped easily among them once he was done. He made sure to avoid jostling anyone as he walked over to his locker and pressed his palm to the cool metal of it in one of his morning rituals. The smooth locker door beneath his palm grounded him as he released some of the tension that being in a crowd usually brought out in him.

Once he felt completely calm again, he twisted his combination into his lock and stashed his coat, then locked it up again. He turned around and leaned back against it for a few minutes, just taking in the morning chaos around him. Other students were milling around with their friends, crowded in groups that were scattered through the hall.

Somehow despite the bustle all around him, Dean's eyes were almost instantly drawn to Cas. Half-way down the hall, he was standing next to Charlie while they goofed off. His dark hair was just a bit longer than Dean normally remembered it being, and it was messier than usual, like he'd been tugging on it… or someone else had, Dean thought with a little flash of unguarded jealousy that he shoved down.

Cas's clear blue eyes were bright with amusement, and the eyeliner he was wearing just made them all the more breathtaking. The black long sleeve shirt he was wearing was rolled up to his elbows, and Dean got a little lost as he stared at the tattoo that that wrapped around Cas's right wrist. Silhouetted earth and trees with a dark blue background that faded gradually, a few silhouetted birds that were taking flight.

It was gorgeous. But then, everything about Cas seemed to be. A burst of movement caught Dean's eye and he glanced back up at Cas's face, startled, but Cas was still completely focused on Charlie.

He stuck his tongue out at her and Dean’s gaze immediately fell to the pink flash of his tongue as it swiped over his lip ring on the way back in. Dean's cheeks burned bright red and he quickly turned back to his locker. Quietly, he slapped his palm onto the cool surface and started his morning ritual again, this time quite a bit less calmly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, can we talk for a second about how talented [@peanutbutter-jelly-fish](http://peanutbutter-jelly-fish.tumblr.com) is? I'm still staring at her art for this chapter. <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I know this is a little late. Both [@peanutbutter-jelly-fish](http://peanutbutter-jelly-fish.tumblr.com) and I have been pretty sick over the holidays, hopefully we'll get back to normal soon.

 

* * *

All morning whenever he was out in the hall between classes, Cas had felt eyes on him. It wasn't new—people looking at him. He'd been told he was good looking enough, had received steady enough offers to go to bed with him, that he knew he was attractive and he tended to draw a lot of attention no matter what he was doing.

So it wasn't the fact that he was being watched, but a question of who was doing the watching. The who in this case, was Dean Winchester. Out of the corner of his eye he'd caught Dean glancing at him and away much more than usual today. It intrigued him even though it shouldn't. Just like he shouldn't know that it was Dean's birthday today, but he did. He knew so much more about Dean than he'd ever admit to.

Cas could color the exact shades of green and caramel that flecked his eyes. He could and had drawn Dean’s face from memory alone on more than one occasion in the last couple of months. His sketchbook—the one he kept just for himself—was full of page after page of a shy, quiet looking boy with freckles smattering his face in delicate bursts and full pink lips that practically begged for Cas's tongue to trace them.

Months… he'd had months to consider this thing from every angle, to get the pull he felt toward Dean under control. In an attempt to take the edge off, he'd slept with an honestly staggering amount of people. Even for him it was excessive. Which said a lot, because Cas liked to feed often. He liked sex to be a regular occurrence and not just because he needed to. He enjoyed it.

Or he used to. The problem was that lately it wasn't even putting a dent in how much he’d started to crave Dean. And he’d say it was just biology or something,because Dean was cherry fresh innocence and wide green eyes and plush gorgeous lips that Cas could tell had never been kissed—which at eighteen years old, was incredibly rare.

Except that it just kept getting worse with the more that he noticed about Dean. Then there was the whole soulmates, fated to be together thing. Which was another problem, because Cas didn’t really know what to do with that.

His longest relationship, if you could call it that, was the friendship he had with Charlie. Though Cas was pretty sure that’d only worked out because Charlie’d been making it work since kindergarten when she’d claimed him as her best friend entirely without his consent.

Cas might have had a way with people thanks to his genetics and the inborn charm that that came with, but he never knew how to get anyone to stick around. Had never so much as _wanted_ someone to stick around before. His life hadn't exactly involved a standard childhood and he didn't have any role models to look up to.

Before Cas had turned eighteen—before he'd woken up with Dean's name blazing behind his closed eyes—his life at home’d been pretty damn close to hell on earth. He'd spent the majority of it hiding in his room and trying not to piss off his uncle, Zachariah. Cas’d always been terrified he'd say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing and end up with a black eye or bruised ribs or worse to show for it.

So he'd bent over backwards trying to keep out of Zachariah's way, and had still managed to set him off on an irregular basis that meant every inch of his body had been continually attuned to his uncle whenever they'd been in the same room; hyper aware that anything he did could be the wrong thing.

The morning that he'd woken up with Dean's name on his lips—a half-whisper in the pale grey light of way too early— something had shifted inside of Cas. Something that made him finally stand up to Zachariah. He’d packed up as much clothing as he could into his backpack, grabbed his wallet and walked out of the shitty house he'd called home ever since his parents had died with nothing of his left behind except for some old clothes and a hastily scrawled note that said, 'Don’t try to find me.’

He was only eighteen, still in highschool and he didn't have much money. Just the life insurance that his parents had set up to pay out monthly for his care, with a moderately sized lump sum he got access to on his eighteenth birthday. Luckily for him, no one could get at the trust but him once he was old enough. If Zachariah’d had his way, he’d have burned through it all years ago and Cas wouldn't have had a cent to his name.

He'd lucked into an apartment because Charlie's aunt had been looking for a tenant and as soon as Cas'd called her, she'd arranged it all. She’d even picked out some cheap furniture with him and had helped him put stuff together. Cas was probably never gonna stop being grateful for the way Charlie had pretty much held him together that day, when the adrenaline’d finally worn off and his fears about Zachariah coming after him had peaked.

Every once in awhile he still had nightmares, still woke up drenched in a cold sweat and shaking, but the longer that went by the less they happened—the easier it was to fall back asleep after.

“You look awfully deep in thought,” Charlie observed from her seat on his right.

They were in the cafeteria, at their usual table with Jo, Meg, and Gabe. The three of them were still animatedly talking while Cas had apparently been guilty of dereliction of duty as far as conversation went.

“Nothing important,” he told her, but his eyes were on Dean at a table by himself in the far corner of the cafeteria where he was quietly eating his lunch.

“Oh yeah?” she asked. “Doesn't look like nothing important. C’mon, Cas. Spill.”

When he didn't reply Charlie eventually turned her attention back to the rest of their group but he knew her well enough to know that the conversation wasn't over. She'd just find a way to corner him later and try to draw the truth out of him. She was surprisingly effective at getting Cas to talk about stuff, which was unfortunate at times. He didn't like to burden her, despite her reassurances that that was what friends were for.

For some reason, Cas couldn’t stop looking over at Dean, probably because Dean kept glancing at him, too. And it wasn't something new or anything, Dean had always watched other people from the sidelines. Cas more than most. Just like Dean watched him, Cas, in turn, had always had an awareness of Dean that went a bit beyond simple curiosity. One that he could never quite put his finger on. He doubted that anyone else noticed Dean like he did, or really thought about him at all. Dean flitted through school like a ghost that no one else could see.

Since September Cas’d figured it was because subconsciously their souls had recognized each other from the moment that they’d first laid eyes on one another. It was a silly, stupid little thought to have, but it was one he'd found himself considering on more than one occasion.

He wondered what Dean was thinking about today. Whether he was working up the nerve to talk to him. He wracked his brain trying to think if he'd ever seen Dean talk to _anyone_ socially? If he’d ever heard him talk to someone when he didn't have to?

Dean would talk if a teacher called on him, though it was extremely rare for teachers to ask him anything at all in class. Like some sort of silent understanding that Dean shouldn't be put on the spot. The last time Cas recalled having actually heard him speak out loud was in sixth grade when they were in the same class.

The memory of it was hazy, but he could just faintly remember Dean's stumbled words, voice quiet as he’d answered the question. His eyes had been focused on his desk and his hands had been balled into fists by his side. Cas’d had the impulse to wrap his own hands around them to help him calm down. Of course, he hadn't actually done it. There was no sense in bringing even more attention to Dean when he was already blushing under everyone's stares and besides—even in sixth grade Cas'd known he was supposed to be afraid of Dean.

“Earth to Cas,” Charlie sing-songed just as Dean glanced over at them.

Cas's eyes locked with Dean’s, and he got totally lost in the way Dean’s widened a little, his cheeks flushed bright pink. Dean shyly bit down on his full bottom lip but he didn’t look away, and Cas was charmed. Dean's eyes were curious and so green, his hand white knuckled on his bottle of coke.

Involuntarily, Cas’s lips twitched into a predatory smirk that he knew looked damn good on his face—and like it was a gunshot instead of a smile Dean fumbled his bottle of pop with a clatter, sent coke spraying across his table and dripping onto the floor. His face turned dark red. It spread to the tips of his ears and right down his neck as everyone turned to look at him.

For a second, Dean stared at Cas, huge green eyes desperately panicked, and Cas could practically see his heart beating jackrabbit fast in his chest before he casted a glance around at all of the people who normally didn't notice him. All of those eyes on him all of a sudden, and Cas could tell Dean didn't have a clue what to do.

He watched the wheels in Dean's head spin like they couldn't get traction and then all at once flight or fight seemed to kick in and he rushed out of the cafeteria without a second glance, head down as he just left everything behind.

“Woah,” Gabe said a little awed from the other side of the table. “You guys see that?”

“I'm pretty sure _everyone_ saw that, Gabe,” Meg said as she rolled her eyes and tucked her long curly dyed black hair behind her ear. “Anyway, so I was thinking, Friday night—”

Cas tuned her out, gaze on the stuff that Dean had left just sitting there. He didn't even get a chance to really notice what it was before a hand smacked the back of his head. 

Slowly, he turned and glared incredulously at Charlie. What the hell was that for?

“Oh don't even give me that look Castiel Novak,” Charlie hissed with her own eyes narrowed right back at him. She looked fierce with her wavy hair cut chin length, eyes rimmed dark with liner and her scrunched up nose just added to the effect. “I don't know what that was about, but quit picking on him. Don't you think his life sucks enough?”

“I wasn't—”

“Do you, or do you not think Dean has a hard enough time without you making him the center of attention he doesn't want?” Charlie asked slowly as if Cas was a particularly recalcitrant child she needed to explain something to.

“Of course he does,” Cas sighed. More than anyone else at their school, he saw just how crappy Dean had it there. “I swear it was just an accident.”  

Eventually, Charlie nodded in acceptance and raised an eyebrow at him, then pointedly stared at Dean’s backpack until Cas got her point.

“Fine,” he sighed, standing up. He went and collected all of the stuff Dean had left behind.

It was his fault, anyway. Although he hadn't meant to spook Dean like that, Dean's reaction heated something up in Cas's veins that he recognized as hunger. This hunger was different than anything he'd felt before, but was categorically similar enough that he understood he wanted Dean. Whether or not he'd actually give into that temptation, whether Dean would, well, that remained to be seen.

So stupid. Dean was so stupid. Letting Cas get to him like that. Letting him rattle his control with something as dumb as a little smirk. What the hell was wrong with him? It was ice cold outside, snow on the ground and Dean was standing out by the baseball diamond alone in jeans and a t-shirt.

Normally, cold didn't bother him too much, but he was also usually moving, not just standing around freezing his ass off and trying to calm himself down enough that he wouldn’t accidentally call his power. It was ninety-nine shades of goddamn ridiculous that he had to do that now, but there he was.

Just beneath the surface of his skin, Dean’s power was humming like an electric current—volatile and way too close. Usually he’d have it locked down tight after this long spent focusing, but right now he couldn’t seem to do it. He was too busy replaying what Cas could’ve meant with that look. He was remembering the startling blue of Cas's eyes in the bright cafeteria lights, even from across the room they’d been intense. Alive, and sparkling with something Dean didn't understand. Curiosity? Interest? Whatever it was, it made some part of Dean sit up and take notice.

A part that he’d be so much better off locking up tight if the way his skin was tingling and his was heart racing were anything to go by. A smirk… for fuck’s sake, it'd been one tiny smirk that’d set him off. He was embarrassed at how deeply it’d affected him, that all it'd taken to send him running for the hills was a playful little twitch of Cas's too-pink lips.

_ Focus Dean _ . He needed to stop obsessing, and start getting himself under control. He forced himself to clear his mind like Dr. Lafitte had taught him. Deep, slow breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth, and gradually the heat beneath his skin receded. The surface of his skin cooled back to it's usual slightly elevated temperature and his breaths came normally.

With a shiver, he finally noticed just how long he’d been out there, how cold he actually was. His fingertips were numb and his lungs ached a little when he took another deep breath in, like he'd been holding his breath too long and hadn't realized it. He let it out in a puff of condensation that floated in front of his face. His boots were stuck in muck—apparently he'd melted the snow around him in a neat circle that'd left a muddy patch.

“Get it together, Dean,” he told himself out loud.

After a few more slow breaths, he turned around and headed back toward the school. Lunch was probably over, but he needed to get his stuff and then he could go home early. He was too raw to spend the rest of the day in classes. It was too much of a risk. He needed some extended time alone to figure out what the fuck was going on with him, and find a way to cope with his reaction to Cas.

He'd text Sammy to get the bus home once he was in the car. First, though, he needed time to come down, because Sam would undoubtedly ask questions and Dean wasn't in a place to answer. He needed to go get his stuff, then get out of there. Quickly, he made his way over to the side door of the school. Right as he was about to go back inside, a voice behind him stalled his hand on the door as it called out “Hey! Winchester, wait!”

Caught off guard, Dean turned around and found Cas jogging toward him in his customary studded leather jacket. A whole insane array of emotions whipped through Dean lightning fast, one after the other as his heart rate kicked up a notch. Cas was talking to him, and he probably expected some kind of reply—but all Dean could do was blankly stare at him and wonder what he wanted. No one talked to Dean.

“Hey,” Cas said, slightly winded, as he caught up with him. “Uh, you forgot your stuff in the cafeteria. So I—well, here.”

He held out Dean's backpack and jacket and for a beat Dean just frowned at him in confusion before Cas sort of jiggled them at him and Dean's brain kicked in enough that he reached out and took them.

“Sorry if I freaked you out back there. I wasn't—I shouldn't've…” Cas's voice trailed off as he shrugged a shoulder at Dean, like he had no idea where he was going with that. Then again, neither did Dean.

And cue the part where Dean was supposed to make some sort of response, but instead all he did was part his lips and then close them again. He probably looked like his eyes were bugging out of his head, or at least that's the way he felt.

Awkward silence hung heavy between them and Dean’s cheeks heated up a little more with each second that it dragged out, but he still couldn't get himself to talk. Cas was really close to him and it was distracting. His stomach twisted with these small flutters that he tried to ignore. Cas cocked an eyebrow at him and Dean's cheeks flushed even darker but he finally managed to get his mouth to work.

“Thanks. You didn't, uh. You didn't have to. I mean, I would've gone back,” Dean stuttered out and really kind of wished the ground would just open up and swallow him whole. It probably would've been less embarrassing and he really should've stuck to blank stares.

“Didn't mind,” Cas replied, all casual indifference. “Besides,” his lips twitched up at the corners but this time Dean was better equipped to see it aimed at him. He didn't even drop anything. “You're pale as a ghost and your lips are practically blue. Someone's clearly gotta look after you.”

Dean’s blush spread further at the implication that not only couldn't he take care of himself but that Cas wanted to do it for him. God, he was probably beet red at this rate.  

“Yeah, no,” Dean disagreed with a bit of bite to his voice, “I'm fine.”

He tugged his jacket on and slung his backpack over his shoulder. “Thanks for the… uh, the help—but I don't need your charity.”

Angrily, emotions still way too close to the surface, Dean stomped toward his car.

“Hey, where are you going?” Cas asked as he jogged a few steps to catch up. “Didn't think you'd be the type of person to skip.”

“I'm going home,” Dean answered, staring straight ahead while he kept on walking. He hoped Cas would let it drop and leave him alone, but no such luck.

“Why?”

“Because, Cas!” Dean snapped, a crackle of energy heating up a little in his palms before he pushed it back down. “I can't—I gotta go.”

Cas’s hand shot out and grabbed Dean by the elbow, tugging him to a stop. Dean froze as Cas walked in front of him so that they were facing each other. “It was just some coke. Not a big deal. No one even remembers by now.”

Dean shrugged a shoulder and debated about whether he should just tell Cas what was going on. His emotions were still too close and he was struggling to control them. Cas just made him too unstable and Dean needed to stay away from him before someone got hurt—before he hurt  _ Cas. _

“It's not the coke. It's you. I'm not—I can't control myself like I should be able to right now and it's better for everyone if I stay away from you,” Dean emphatically informed him. His eyes locked on Cas's and he tried to convey without words just how serious he was, just how dangerous.

Before Cas could say anything else, Dean walked away, got in his car and took a ragged breath before he started it up. The familiar sensation of the steering wheel beneath his palms was soothing as he left Cas standing in the middle of the parking lot looking curiously after him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this chapter let us know. :D And please make sure you give [@peanutbutter-jelly-fish](http://peanutbutter-jelly-fish.tumblr.com) lots of love for her art. She knocked it out of the park again even though she's feeling really under the weather. <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's probably not surprising that this update is late. lol. If you're a longtime reader of mine, you likely already know to expect that. ^-^;; We're doing our best to get these out as fast as we can, but it looks like weekly was a little optimistic. Anyway, thanks for sticking with us, and I hope you enjoy the update.

 

* * *

The next week of Dean’s life was surprisingly normal. Some part of his brain had expected Cas to approach him again. To talk to him, but he didn’t. Dean wasn’t sure why he was disappointed about that. He’d basically told Cas to leave him alone and … and that was what he wanted. The tug in Dean’s gut that felt like a constant low level pull toward Cas didn’t stop but it didn’t get stronger either. If Cas had learned to live with it since September, then Dean could too.

Maybe it’d get weaker with time. Maybe that was why Cas seemed to be perfectly fine while Dean was stuck watching him out of the corner of his eyes whenever they were anywhere near one another. He couldn't help the way his gaze was drawn to Cas, the way he drank up every last detail about him and still wanted more.

He was stronger than that, though. He had to be. Dean ran a hand through his hair and stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. Just the same as he looked every other day, the same golden brown hair and green eyes. The same freckles and nose and everything looked exactly the way it should, but he didn't  _ feel  _ like he did everyday. And wasn't that the whole damn problem. He shouldn't feel anything. Dean was good at numbing himself, at keeping his resting state neutral but these days it felt like he was keyed up before he ever even got downstairs in the morning.

Sure, the dreams he was having lately didn't help—all blue eyes and bare skin—but even counting that, Dean was still more out of sorts than he oughta be. After a few more seconds spent berating himself for not getting it together, three sharp bangs on the door startled him into moving.

“C’mon, Dean! I gotta pee!” Sam complained.

The joys of sharing a bathroom with three other people, Dean rolled his eyes and grabbed his towel from the floor. He tossed it in the hamper so Mom wouldn't be pissed and then yanked his t-shirt on, his jeans already done up.

“Yeah, yeah,” he yelled back as he snatched his socks off of the counter, marched over and pulled open the door. “All yours.”

After that Dean went through his morning routine, did the breathing exercises that Dr. Lafitte had taught him to start his day off right, and they helped a bit, though not as much as usual. He hated this. He hated feeling like he wasn't in control. He  _ had _ to be in control. Always. All it’d take was one little slip up and someone could get hurt. Dean had to remember that.

He sighed out a breath and flopped back onto his bed. There were ten minutes before breakfast and all he wanted to do was permanently meld with his mattress—just sink down in it and never have to get up again. Instead he closed his eyes and tried a few more cleansing breaths before he sat up and pulled on his socks.

Two minutes to spare, he walked down the stairs just as Mom poked her head out into the hallway.

“Brother?” she asked.

“Probably blow drying his girly hair. Wouldn't bother yelling, he won't be able to hear you.” Dean smirked and bypassed her for the kitchen.

A few seconds later she followed him in, must've decided to let Sam take his time. It didn't really matter much to Dean so long as they left on time. Being late meant possible eyes on him, meant Dean had to try harder not to react. Sam knew that, so Dean wasn't worried.

They left right on schedule after Sam had hastily scarfed down a couple of poptarts and a glass of milk. Even the drive and dropping Sam off went smoothly. Dean started to think maybe his luck was turning around. Maybe he was doing better than he thought and things were about to get a bit easier for him.

He didn't even see Cas in the hall that morning. And if for some reason Dean was a little disappointed by that fact, well, self preservation made him ignore it. On autopilot he got his stuff out of his locker and put his jacket inside. He'd grab it again before he went to eat lunch so he could go outside after and spend some time breathing in fresh air. Ever since that day last week, Dean had found that he needed that burst of cold air filling his lungs to unwind a bit.

It was probably all in his head, but he felt like people were looking at him more. They were noticing him when for so many years he'd scraped by undetected.

His classes went by in a blur of textbooks and lectures that bored him. The fact that he didn't have much else to do meant that Dean was always ahead in his classes. When you didn't have friends, it wasn't hard to focus on schoolwork. He'd always been curious and books about nearly anything were an escape from his life—even when they were as dry as his calculus textbook.

The bell before lunch couldn't have come at a better time. Mrs. Harvelle’s eyes had just flicked over to him and he could practically feel the question on the tip of her tongue, aimed right at him. She meant well, for some reason Dean knew she did, but she was pretty much the only teacher who ever tried to engage him in class and Dean hated it.

She frowned when the bell rang but let it go and Dean stuffed his books into his bag. He waited a minute for the majority of his classmates to leave and then slipped out into the flow of students in the hall. Lunchtime was always loud, people talking, laughing,  slamming lockers. It made disappearing into the crowd and being overlooked easy.

He got to his locker and grabbed his jacket, then headed upstairs to eat his lunch. Dean figured his day avoiding Cas was going so well, he didn't wanna ruin it by staring at him in the cafeteria for three quarters of his lunch hour. There were some hallways upstairs that were generally empty enough that he didn't need to worry about people bothering him at all.

One good thing about everyone knowing his messed up history with his powers was that Dean pretty much never had to deal with anyone bugging him. People were too scared of him to pick on him. Usually he was too caught up in his own issues to even register most people, let alone to find himself watching a few seniors in a secluded hallway—Bartholomew and some of his jackass bible thumping buddies—pushing around a girl and calling her dirty names but there he was.

It was a bad idea for him to get involved, but he couldn’t just walk away from this. She had tears in her eyes, streaked down her cheeks, and they wouldn’t let her leave. Before Dean thought better of it, he was already down the hall,  Bartholomew pinned up against the locker, Dean's forearm against his throat.

A quick glance behind him revealed that the girl was still standing there stunned, her brown eyes wide with fear, the same as Bartholomew's dumbass friends.

“Get out of here,” Dean snapped at her and he didn't need to say it twice. She took off running and didn't look back. Good.

Dean’s gaze snapped back to Bartholomew's face and he saw red, his control was slipping and his skin was heating up. There was terror in Bartholomew's bulging eyes and his friends briefly jerked out of their frozen states, each of them grabbed one of Dean's arms and tried yanking him off but almost as soon as they touched him they let go with shocked hisses. Dean was seconds away from lighting up he was so far beyond caring that it was a barely visible speck in the distance.

Deep-seated rage welled up in him. Every last repressed moment of anger brought to the surface and he felt like he was burning with it. There was no way to stop it. Bartholomew was gonna fry right along with him and the thought didn't even scare him.

Suddenly there was a cool hand on his bicep and Dean’s eyes flashed over, met calm blue. “Let him go Dean.”

“But he—”

“I know. He deserves it, but you won’t want to live with the consequences if you hurt people. Will you?” Cas asked, voice pitched low and soothing. Fractionally, Dean's anger cooled. Rational thought started to seep in, just fleeting and scattered but there.

“No, I don’t want to … I don’t wanna hurt anyone,” Dean confessed on a shaky breath but he couldn't make himself stop. He was so goddamn  _ mad. _ Bartholomew had no damn right to do shit like that—to hurt people like that.

“So don’t. Let him go and everyone walks away, isn’t that right, Bart?” Cas asked, though his intense gaze never left Dean, he could feel it on him.

Face strained with rage and fear, Bartholomew nodded jerkily. A growl Dean didn’t recognize erupted from his own chest as he bared his teeth at him and glared.

“Dean!” Eyes back on Cas, like cool soothing rain water that dripped onto his overheated skin, trickled over him and calmed him down. Then with force, Cas repeated, “Let. him. go.”

Instantly, Dean’s arms dropped to his sides and Bartholomew took off for the end of the empty hall. Cas’s hand was still on his arm, the only thing that grounded him, kept him from losing it.

“Good, Dean,” Cas said softly and Dean lost himself in the striated shades of blue that made up Cas's eyes for long moments, just trying to breathe and lock everything back down. “You're doing so good. Deep breaths.”

He latched onto that and breathed in deep, let it out slow and Cas matched him, like he was trying to guide Dean to keep it up.

“Just like that, Dean. Stay with me, okay? Focus on me.” There was a command in Cas's voice that Dean couldn't help but obey, the coolness of Cas's hand, still on his arm, seemed to help him bleed off power and it was weird. Like nothing Dean had ever felt.

Though to his credit, he'd never lost control like this before either. Not since … not since. Never even a little bit, did Cas look scared though. He should've been but he wasn't or at least he looked and felt genuinely calm to Dean. Like he knew Dean wouldn't hurt him, but that wasn't true.

Part of Dean wanted to yell at Cas, tell him to run, fast as he could, ‘cause Dean  _ could _ hurt him, even if he didn't want to. The rest of Dean was horrified at the thought of what might happen if Cas took his hand away now, if Cas left him there like that.

“Stop,” Cas whispered, “Whatever it is that you're thinking right now, just stop. You're in control, Dean, and you can do this. You've  _ been _ doing this. Just look at me and breathe. That's all you have to do and I'll be right here with you until you don't need me anymore, okay?”

Slowly, Dean nodded, and his vision cleared. His heart rate evened out and he started to feel like himself again, ashamed of his behavior and shocked that he'd let himself go so far. When he seemed to realize that Dean was mostly back to himself, Cas's hand slipped down Dean's arm and twined their fingers together. 

Wordlessly, Cas held his hand and led him back toward the stairs. He brought Dean all the way out the front doors and into the freezing winter air. Somehow it seemed easier to breathe even though the cold stabbed at his lungs.

Dean was still all over the place. His stomach was fluttering nervously about Cas holding his hand, but he didn’t feel like he was about to spontaneously light on fire anymore. That didn't mean he was ready to lose the contact between himself and Cas, so he just held a little tighter to Cas's hand and leaned back against the icy brick wall behind them.

Eventually, Dean found his voice. He couldn't look at Cas, but he managed to ask, “Why are you helping me?”

Cas just shrugged. There was an elephant in the room that neither of them mentioned. They stayed there for a long time, not talking. It should've felt awkward. It should've been stifling and uncomfortable for Dean but it wasn't. He kind of wished it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun with this chapter, getting to see a little bit of Dean's self-sacrificing nature and Cas trying to save him from himself. *dreamy sigh* 
> 
> Let us know what you thought in the comments or visit us on tumblr [@peanutbutter-jelly-fish](http://peanutbutter-jelly-fish.tumblr.com) and [@daydreamdestiel](http://daydreamdestiel.tumblr.com).


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay!! Update!! Please die with me over [@peanutbutter-jelly-fish](http://peanutbutter-jelly-fish.tumblr.com)'s amazing art. I legitimately might have (totally) screamed a high-pitched scream when she sent it to me. ^-^;

&snsp

* * *

Later after school, Cas microwaved yet another frozen dinner before he needed to head over to Balthazar’s tattoo shop. He’d been volunteering there since shortly after he moved out on his own. He’d gotten his first tattoo there on the same day that he’d left Zachariah's and it hadn't taken him long to go back for more.

With its warm atmosphere, every available wall covered in gorgeous paintings and tattoo flash art all done by the artists who worked there, the shop was eclectic in its design, flawlessly clean and Castiel had fallen in love with the place.

Already, he had plans for future tattoos, ideas that sank their teeth into him until he sketched them out and had them inked onto his body. Eventually he'd probably run out of space, but that was a part of why he wanted to apprentice with Balthazar. The idea that he could create these beautiful, permanent pieces of art on other people's skin appealed to him. It wasn't something he could even fully explain or rationalize, he just felt like it was where he fit.

He’d tried to convince Balthazar to take him on, but he wouldn't until Cas had graduated. Balthazar had a that he wanted Cas to be well rounded. Which Cas found laughable. The only thing he’d ever been good at was art. And sex. He was pretty sure that last one didn’t count considering he was an incubus so it was an innate feature of his biology, and plus, he wasn't really keen to have a career in that line of work. Not that he had anything against people who were, so long as they were willing participants, he'd just much rather focus on his artwork.

As Cas shoveled down mashed potatoes and salisbury steak, his thoughts were stuck on Dean. He was thinking about how vulnerable he’d seemed beneath his usually calm exterior. Dean’d stood up for that girl even though he must’ve known it could’ve ended badly for him. Because Dean was the kind of person who couldn’t stand silently by while injustices occurred, even if it put him at risk, put everything he worked for at risk.

Grudgingly, Cas admitted to himself that he liked that. Part of why he'd stepped in earlier had been a gut-instinct reaction to seeing Dean in action, toe to toe with that dickbag and still concerned for the girl. After that it was mostly a blur but he'd been drawn to Dean's side. Some part of him completely convinced he could help.

Good thing that part’d been right, because he'd felt the heat beneath Dean's flannel shirt, and he was sure that Dean had been a second away from unleashing his power. And maybe Bartholomew was an asshole of epic proportions with delusions of grandeur, but murder was a little extreme. That and Dean probably never would've forgiven himself.

He seemed like the kind of guy who took the blame for anything that could even remotely be his fault, and that one would've been hard to argue against. The weird part'd been when he'd taken Dean's hand. His palm still tingled when he thought about it—how warm and right it'd felt. Like their hands were meant to be joined that way. With a little jolt, he realized that they sort of were.

That thought got shoved away when he looked up and noticed the time. He tossed out his empty frozen dinner tray and dropped his fork in the sink before he headed to his bedroom. Quickly, he changed the long sleeve v-neck he was wearing out for a black t-shirt that'd show off some of Balthazar's work and then he grabbed a grey hoodie and his black leather jacket.

The walk to Balthazar's was cold, but Cas liked the stillness because of it. Christmas rush was well over, people were hunkered down for the winter. The streets were quiet now—especially once it got dark out. Most people seemed to hate that the sun set so early in the winter, but Cas didn't mind. Something about brutally cold air seemed to make the stars clearer, brighter.

Maybe it was a trick of the imagination or maybe there was some scientific reason for it, Cas didn't know, but he liked to stop and stare up at them on his walk. It was strange how he could feel tiny and insignificant in those moments and yet he was the center of his own universe in some ways. Everyone was at the epicenter of their own stories, all intersecting and shaping each other.

So looking at the stars got him to thinking a little metaphysical, sue him. Sometimes it was interesting to contemplate something other than his pathetically solitary existence.

The bell over Balthazar's door rang and Cas saw blonde wavy hair peek up from behind the half-wall partition that separated Balthazar's work area from the front of the shop. Blue eyes peered over the edge and then a wide smile, “Ah, Cassie. There you are. I was just considering sending the hounds out to search for you.”

“You have hounds? Where?” Cas asked with a small frown.

Balthazar rolled his eyes, “Hannah and Kevin.”

Hannah was another artist like Balthazar and Kevin was their resident piercer. He had his own little room in the back next to the break room whereas Hannah and Balthazar had stations on either side of the main area behind the front desk, partitioned off with half-walls.

“They're not—” Cas started only to be cut off by Kevin.

“I heard that!” he shouted from the back room.

“Must you take everything so literally?” Balthazar asked Cas with a smirk, ignoring Kevin completely. Cas shrugged a shoulder, and offered an innocent look that he knew Balthazar didn't really fall for. “Right, I have an appointment who should be here shortly, so why don't you set up my station while I go over my email exchanges with the client.”

After that, Cas fell into the routine of working at the shop, cleaning up, setting stuff out, manning the front desk. Between appointments Balthazar found time to fuss over him.

“What's going on with you?” he asked while he eyed Castiel suspiciously. “You seem … off.”

Cas shrugged. “I'm fine.”

“I'm never wrong, we both know this, so, try again. What's going on?” Balthazar asked once more, arms crossed, this look on his face that said he could see right through him.

Just long enough for Balthazar's eyes to narrow, Cas held out and then he let out a sigh  “Fine. It's,” Cas paused dramatically. “It's this new brand of bondage tape I've been trying. It can't seem to—”

Balthazar's eyes narrowed further and Cas fought the way the corners of his lips twitched.

“I will get it out of you  _ Castiel.”  _ Balthazar promised. Or was it a threat? “Eventually you'll want to tell someone.”

“Oh, will I?” Cas replied sarcastically. “I suppose we’ll have a tea party too.”

“Yes and possibly.” Balthazar said flippantly before he collected his client and headed over to his station with her.

Cas spluttered indignantly for a moment. He was  _ not _ going to have a tea party with Balthazar. That was just absurd. He shook his head a little like that’d rid him of the disturbing mental image that suddenly popped into his head. Yeah, not happening. Balthazar was bluffing.

It wasn't until they were tidying up for the night, Hannah and Kevin already gone, that Balthazar tried again.

In a serious tone, with his blue eyes intent on Cas's face he said, “If you tell me to leave it, I'll let it go.”

Cas's head tilted at that, confused. It wasn't like Balthazar to give in so easily. Especially not once he'd already sworn to drag the truth out of him. So, this genuine offer to let him off the hook was unusual enough that it caught him off guard.

In the past few months Balthazar had done a lot for him. He'd given Cas a place to be in the evenings, and company when he'd had none. He'd realized right off the bat that Cas needed more than just a job, and part of Cas felt pathetic for it, but the rest of him was pretty grateful. Without Balthazar's interfering and almost effortless concern for him, Cas figured he'd be in a much worse place.

So, maybe Balthazar was prying, but he wasn't doing it for shits and giggles. For some reason he actually  _ cared _ about Cas. And maybe Cas needed that more than even he knew.

“I … my soulmate,” Cas started, not really sure where he was going with that, but then the entirety of what was going on came out of his mouth. Dean's history, the way he seemed to blame himself. Little details about Dean that other people didn't notice. Cas’s lips were practically buzzing by the time he finished up, and Balthazar just stood there the whole time, a thoughtful look on his face like he was really, honestly listening to what Cas was saying. “He wants me to stay away from him because he thinks he's dangerous.”

Balthazar tilted his head, “He's not wrong, Cassie.” Cas narrowed his eyes. “Calm yourself down, I'm not saying he's all the way right either.”

That gave Cas pause. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, he  _ is _ dangerous. That's just a fact of early presentation. The question then becomes, does that mean you should stay away?” Balthazar asked, one eyebrow raised. “You need to think about whether the risk, for both of you, is worth the reward. But you also need to consider the impact on your heart if you choose not to pursue him.”

The confusion he felt must've shown on his face because Balthazar rolled his eyes, “Your feelings, Cassie. How would it  _ feel _ if you let him walk away without trying?”

“Bad?” Cas asked uncertainly.

“Why are you asking  _ me? _ They're  _ your _ feelings,” Balthazar replied with exasperation in his voice. “Now go home and think about what you're going to do tomorrow.”

Cas sighed. “Fine. See you tomorrow.”

After he grabbed his jacket, as he was walking out  the door, he heard Balthazar mumble under his breath, “Bloody teenagers.”

A small smile tugged Cas's lips up and he closed the door behind himself. He offered Balthazar a lazy two finger salute through the window, and then headed home. 

The night air was even icier than earlier on his walk and by the time he got into the lobby of his building, he was frozen to the bone. His fingers and nose numb, he climbed up the stairs to his apartment and let himself in.

As he sank down beneath the blankets on his slightly lumpy bed after he'd shed his boots, coat, and most of his clothing, Cas sighed. The weird hollow that was always present in his chest widened now that he was left to his own devices. Memories he didn't want to think about pushed at the edges of his consciousness—the vicious, smug, self-satisfied look that Zachariah had worn whenever he'd been about to tear into Cas, bruises from fists and palms and fingers that grabbed too hard left where teachers wouldn't notice. He'd been too afraid to ask for help, too afraid to do anything but accept that his life was just like that, that he deserved it. Until Dean.

He'd known all along that Dean was the catalyst for the way that he’d saved himself, but he didn't let himself think too deeply about it. Dean deserved so much better than anything Cas could offer. Dean deserved someone who could be there for him in ways that Cas would never have been able to be back then. Most days he’d barely been surviving, hurt and anger buried under snark and dry humor and meaningless sex with near strangers. And the entirety of his existence consumed with this sense of worthlessness that permeated it.

He hadn't let himself fully consider that the reason he’d walked out of his house that day was a sudden drive to _be_ better. To be _worth_ Dean. That he’d wanted to be worth someone as beautiful and amazing and complicated as Dean. Because at the time, he hadn't thought for a second he would ever be in a place where he remotely thought that maybe, just maybe he deserved to be happy. That he deserved to be loved.

So Dean had baggage—so what? Cas had baggage too. And the thing was, Dean didn't  _ feel _ dangerous the way that everyone thought he was. Cas knew dangerous. He'd lived with it for too many years and Dean? Wasn't. Not to Cas. No matter what Dean thought.

He'd need to approach this whole thing cautiously. Cas was smart enough to know that while he was ready to sacrifice pretty much anything for the chance to be with Dean, that Dean would take some convincing. He was too self-sacrificing for his own good. Cas was gonna make sure he did this right—did it slow.

A distant voice in his head reminded him that if he was gonna do that, he really ought to feed sometime soon. His stomach clenched at the thought though, and for the first time, the idea of casual sex made him completely uncomfortable. Damn it, he'd just have to go without for a while. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, if you loved it please let us know in the comments, or if you super loved it, do us a huge favor and share it on twitter/tumblr/Facebook groups/whatever the new social media is/with your friends. ;) 
> 
> <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry it's been awhile. I come bearing an update! Yay!!

* * *

It was way past when Dean normally fell asleep on a school night. His rigid schedule was part of how he maintained his control and he hadn’t stayed up this late, well, ever. He was in his bed tucked under his pale blue blanket, but he was all tangled up inside. He couldn’t sleep because his mind kept on replaying what’d happened—what could’ve happened if Cas hadn’t been there.

Thinking of Cas just brought up a whole other snarled mass of confused emotions. Dean was out of his depth. So far out of it that he couldn't even remember what it felt like to be on solid ground anymore. Everything kept shifting and changing beneath his feet and he was doing his best to get a handle on himself, but nothing that normally worked was helping anymore.

He wanted to be able to shut himself off, numb himself to the vibrant blue of Cas's eyes, to the twitch of his lips when he smiled or the concern that pinched his brows when he was worried about him. He wanted to forget the flutter in his stomach when Cas's fingers, cool and slightly callused, had intertwined with his. Or how the touch of Cas's hand on his arm had brought him back from the brink, calmed the terrifying rage that'd built up in him.

Only he couldn't forget—not for a second because underneath the fear and the anxiety in his gut… being with Cas like that had felt… good. It'd felt right in a way that went straight into his core and in the deepest darkest parts of his soul. Which still didn't make it okay, because all that did was solidify Dean's opinion that Cas deserved better than him.

Beneath Cas's sort of intimidating surface, there was a caring, kind, amazing guy, Dean had always seen that. The way he'd been so nice to him, had saved him from himself, just cemented it in his mind. It made him realize all over again that even if fate itself said they were meant to be together… he couldn't drag Cas down like that—Cas didn't belong down in the mud with him.

But damn if Dean didn't wish that he belonged up in the clouds with Cas.

Around and around, his thoughts endlessly circled until exhaustion finally claimed him and he passed out. He drifted into a restless sleep filled with worst-case scenario nightmares that alternated with the recurring dreams he'd been having about Cas for awhile now. All slick skin and plush pink lips and things he'd never felt for real. Unfortunately, his unconscious mind filled in the gaps well enough that Dean woke up hard and off-center in the morning.

He jolted to wakefulness with the softness of Cas's skin tingling on his lips and it took a few hard blinks for the sensation to dissipate and the world around him to resolve. Frustrated with himself, his body, his bond with Cas, he sighed harshly and rubbed his palms into his closed eyes. It was entirely possible that keeping everything bottled up like he was, might've been a mistake. Maybe if he talked to Dr. Lafitte about what’d been going on with him at his session this morning, he could shed some light.

At the very least, he was sure that Dr. Lafitte would have some ideas on how to get his feelings for Cas under control. He would be the voice of reason when Dean's rebellious heart couldn't be trusted to. His resolve was already weakening when it came to Cas. It was easy to see that his guard was starting to slip around him. Desires that he'd always held in check were getting harder and goddamn harder to keep to himself.

As he heaved another dramatic sigh, he got himself out of bed. Then he got himself showered, into a pair of jeans, a black t-shirt and a blue plaid shirt. He rushed through breakfast with his family, and ignored their shocked looks as he inhaled his lucky charms. On the way to Dr. Lafitte’s he dropped Sam off at school.

Dr. Lafitte’s office was actually in a big old well-maintained yellow house. The cheerful color seemed kind of at odds with the sad stories that were shared within its walls, at least in Dean’s opinion. He’d always liked that color though, it made everything less bleak, for some reason, than sterile white would've. Was that why they’d chosen that color?

He parked in the small lot on the side of the house and made his way around the front. There was a routine to this, too. At the navy blue front door, Dean paused with his hand on its cold gleaming brass knob and inhaled a deep breath of frosty air. Slowly, he let go of his need to keep everything bottled up.

Dr. Lafitte couldn't help him if Dean wouldn't let him and he'd learned a long time ago that he needed to turn off the self-sacrificing part of himself that didn't want to burden others. Sometimes it was hard to talk about himself so openly to someone else, but Dr. Lafitte was great. He never judged Dean and his kind disposition and easy acceptance of whatever Dean had to say meant that Dean was comfortable enough with him to spill his guts every week.

Some weeks there wasn't much to tell and Dr. Lafitte just walked him through his coping mechanisms, or they worked on new ways for Dean to remain in control. More and more, he'd needed the practice thanks to his teenage hormones. And now Cas. Dean knew he should've brought up the whole I-know-my-soulmate thing right away, but he hadn't. Now that it was time to 'fess up, he was nervous, little skitters in his stomach that were like micro bursts of nauseousness.

Jane, Dr. Lafitte's office manager, smiled at him from her desk as he walked in. Her shiny dark brown hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, and it swished when she nodded a greeting at him. She had the phone pressed to her ear, and from the sound of it she was booking an appointment. By now Dean knew the drill though, he sat down in one of the plush chairs in the waiting room and stared at the obligatory kitten poster on the wall. He remembered the first time he'd teased Dr. Lafitte about the cliché cat hanging on.

“It's a cliché for a reason, Dean.” Dr. Lafitte had said _.  _ His pale blue eyes had sparkled with that easy going smile of his. “Some days a person's just gotta be reminded to keep on hangin’ on.”

And wasn't that the truth. Though why kittens were the poster child for that sentiment, Dean didn't know. He was pretty sure he was more of a dog person—not that they'd ever had a pet. His family had enough on their plate dealing with him. They didn't need the addition of more responsibility. Dad always said it was because they were all too busy to take care of one properly whenever Sam asked, but Dean knew the real reason was him. It wasn’t that big of a leap to take. Without him, Sam would definitely have gotten the dog he wanted.

Just as that depressing thought flickered through his mind, Dr. Lafitte's door opened and he waved Dean into his office. Dean followed him in and sat down on the plush leather couch that was against one wall. Dr. Lafitte settled in the matching armchair across from it. On the far wall was a solid dark cherry wood desk that Dean hadn't ever really seen Dr. Lafitte use. The walls all around them were lined with bookshelves filled with books. Enough of them that he often wondered whether Dr. Lafitte had actually read them all.

“Good morning, Dean,” Dr. Lafitte said with a warm smile.

“Mornin’, Doc,” Dean replied as he toed off his boots and then curled his feet up beside him so that he was leaning comfortably against the arm of the couch.

Dr. Lafitte studied him for a second. “You look tired.”

Dean shrugged a shoulder and let his eyes roam over book titles he couldn’t really make out from that far away. “Couldn't sleep.”

“Care to talk about that?” Dr. Lafitte asked. He didn't have to work so hard these days to get Dean to talk. He didn't have to coax him into it with carefully designed questions. It was easier when they were both straightforward, and Dean liked that Dr. Lafitte didn't treat him with kid gloves.

“Yeah.” Dean rubbed a hand over his face, wiped at his mouth. “Yeah, okay. It's just… so, my birthday was a little while ago.…”

Softly, Dr. Lafitte hummed. “I remember you were shifty the appointment after. Didn't feel like talkin’ none.”

Nervously, Dean chewed on his thumbnail and dragged his gaze from the books back to Dr. Lafitte. He didn't really know what he planned to say, he just opened up his mouth and told him everything. Right from waking up and finding out who his soulmate was, all the way to Cas pulling him back from the edge of going postal the day before. The whole time Dr. Lafitte just inclined his head a little, listening patiently. Attention on Dean in a way that didn't feel overwhelming or intense, it was just comforting.

“And… well… after that he… uh, he held my hand in the parking lot for a while,” Dean finished up, cheeks flaming.

“Felt good?” Dr. Lafitte asked with a little smile, and Dean's cheeks heated a bit more.

“I guess,” he replied evasively. “But it doesn't matter anyway. Cas is—Cas deserves someone who can give him what he needs and that's not me. I can't—He makes me feel too—”  

Dean struggled to describe the way Cas got him all messed up inside, and Dr. Lafitte kindly cut in, “Much?”

“Yeah.” Dean breathed out, relieved that he understood. “I can't shut myself off when he's around. I'm not in control.”

For a while it was quiet in the room as Dr. Lafitte seemed to process what Dean was saying. He always took his time to respond after Dean had something to tell him, like he was giving Dean the space to add something more or to reflect about what he'd said. Dean liked that, but he didn’t have anything else to add this time.

“Control’s a big issue, isn't it?” Dr. Lafitte said eventually, and Dean nodded. “Thing is, Dean, you got yourself so anxious about any bad feelings that might set you off… that you're denying yourself the chance to have any good ones too. Experiencing positive feelings doesn't mean you aren't in control of the darker ones.”

“Dunno,” Dean mumbled. “I feel pretty outta control. This is—” his cheeks burned, but he made himself talk anyway, “I've never—what if I go nuclear again and Cas gets hurt? It's not worth risking just because he might make me feel… stuff.”

“Dean, the point of our sessions was never to eliminate any trace of emotion. For one thing, that’d be impossible. Feelings are an intrinsic part of being human. Keepin’ your temper and anxiety in check shouldn't mean you never get to be happy,” Dr. Lafitte said patiently. “There was always gonna be a time when your coping mechanisms were put to the test. How else would you learn to fully control the feelings that trigger your power?”

Dean frowned and stared off into space while he thought about that. The problem with it, though, was that he couldn't risk Cas’s wellbeing on the hope that he'd possibly be able to stop himself from hurting him. Sure, he had coping mechanisms that worked… but look at how close he'd gotten to lighting up in the hall with Bartholomew. What if he got that way around Cas?

“I dunno. I can't with Cas. He's too—He deserves better and I just don't think it's worth it for him. If he even wants me,” Dean said kind of despondently.

A little stab of something dark in his guts twisted at the realization that Cas still might not want him. He probably didn't. All of his actions could be explained away, couldn’t they? Cas was a good person. He was just calming Dean down and protecting everyone. It didn't necessarily  _ mean _ anything. But the tingling sensation in Dean's palm—the one Cas'd held—said differently.

Dr. Lafitte jotted something down in his notebook and he paused for a moment before he said, “I know you don't think so, Dean, and I can't say I'd be any different in your place… but good things do happen. And contrary to what's goin’ on up in that brain of yours, you do deserve to be happy.”

Dean's shoulders tensed up, and he looked away from Dr. Lafitte. He just—he didn't believe that. Good things happened to other people, to good people. Dean… had never really been good.

Dr. Lafitte huffed a breath. “Been telling you this every week for what, nearly fourteen years now? That night wasn't your fault, Dean. It's a blip in your biology, that's all. You were a kid, and you haven't slipped up—not once—since. What that tells me, even if you can't see it, is that in spite of the negative thoughts you have about yourself, you're a good guy.”

Maybe Dean could've believed that, hell, he wanted to believe it pretty much more than he wanted anything. But something inside of him just knew Dr. Lafitte was wrong somehow—that Dean himself had been made wrong. There was something about him that was different from everyone else. He'd always blamed those thoughts on the fire, but he was starting to suspect that they ran deeper.

“Yeah, maybe,” Dean mumbled to appease Dr. Lafitte.

A lopsided smile lifted up the corners of Dr. Lafitte's lips. “Now there's a line of bull if I ever heard one. It's okay if you don't believe me right this second. Just take some time and think about it. And while you're at it, maybe think about how Cas helped talk you down. Maybe he could be a source of strength for you instead of a liability.”  

That was the note they ended that part of their conversation on. Dr. Lafitte shifted their focus to how Dean was doing with his control exercises and asked if Dean might be ready to test out using his powers in a controlled environment. Like every time he'd asked since Dean had been thirteen, he declined. There was a frightened voice in the back of his mind that always insisted that once he let his power loose, it'd never stop.

As usual, Dr. Lafitte didn't pressure him, he just easily accepted Dean's answer and sent him off to school with a pat on the shoulder.

“Remember to think about what we discussed,” he reminded Dean as he walked out the door.

“Will do,” Dean said over his shoulder.

“I mean it!” Dr. Lafitte called after him, a fond smile on his face, and Dean rolled his eyes, but he knew he’d think about it. He couldn't seem to help thinking about Cas anyway.

At lunch Dean sat at his usual table in the crowded cafeteria. He unpacked his ham and cheese sandwich, a bag of chips, and a bottle of coke from his bag and set them on the table. His thoughts were still occupied with what Dr. Lafitte had said. Maybe he'd been right about some things, loathe as Dean was to admit it. Cas had helped him calm down, maybe there was something to that. Could Dr. Lafitte be on the right track? Or was that just wishful thinking?

Mindlessly, Dean opened his bag of chips and popped one in his mouth, eyes on his table as his thoughts churned. He'd just taken a sip of his coke when the quiet scrape of the chair next to him being pulled back drew his attention. It was pure luck that he managed to swallow without choking when he looked over and saw Cas drop down into the chair he angled toward him.

In his black leather jacket, a black t-shirt, shredded black jeans, and black converse, Cas was way too good-looking to be that close to Dean. How was his brain supposed to keep up if it was much too busy drooling over the faint scent of leather and the light fresh smell of Cas's cologne?

Blue eyes peered thoughtfully at him. Dean had a hard time looking away. “Where were you this morning?” Cas asked.

Surprise flared Dean's eyes a little wider. This never happened. People didn’t sit with him at lunch and they certainly didn’t notice or care when he missed class. Except Cas did. It was all over his face—curiosity and concern—before he wiped it clean when he seemed to notice that Dean was carefully examining him.

Too startled to come up with a lie, Dean hedged, “I was… uh… I was with my specialist. Working on controlling my powers and… and stuff.”

Cas smirked. “Talked about me, huh?”

“What? I—no.” Dean’s eyes flashed down to his as yet uneaten sandwich. “Why would I do that?”

“Oh no reason,” Cas said lightly, but the look on his face was challenging and something in Dean responded to it without his permission.

Cheeks warm, he grumpily admitted, “Fine. Okay. I talked about you.”

“Mhmm,” Cas smirked self satisfaction again.

“Shut up.”

Placatingly, Cas held up his hands, but the smug look never left his face. “Didn’t say anything.”

Unimpressed, Dean glared. “I can hear you  _ thinking.” _

Bright and carefree, Cas laughed and something pleased spread through Dean's chest at the sound. “So you gonna tell me what you talked about?”

“Not even a little,” Dean flatly replied.

“Fine.” Cas pursed his lips in a fake pout before his expression turned serious. “But you  _ are _ doing okay, right? After yesterday?”

Not really, Dean thought, not with the way his stomach was jumping all over the place just from Cas sitting beside him at his at the table and talking to him. His palms were sweating where they rested on his jeans, but it didn’t feel  _ bad  _ per se _. _

“Yeah,” he finally answered. “I’m good now.”

As if he was weighing whether Dean was being honest, Cas stared at him, and Dean stared back. How come Cas cared so much? How come he kept looking out for Dean when he didn't have to?

“Cas!” a voice from his usual table called over and Cas shot an impatient glance behind his shoulder at them, then looked back at Dean, face softer.

“Never a question of whether you were good.” Cas flashed him a wink as he stood up that made Dean's heart stutter in his chest. Unfair. “But I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

Shyly, Dean smiled just a little. There  was something he needed to say, “Thanks. You know, for yesterday, too.”

Warmly, Cas smiled back at him, blue eyes lit up bright. “Anytime, Winchester.”

The soft glow that that expression, those words, spread through Dean’s chest, lasted the whole rest of the day. It was confusing and embarrassing and weird, the way Cas could get under his skin like no one else—scary and exciting at the same time. Maybe fate had a point, but Dean wasn’t entirely sure if he was ready to face up to it, if Cas was either. And, well, even if Dean was thinking about giving things a shot, he was still wary and unsure. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to give some love to [@peanutbutter-jelly-fish](http://peanutbutter-jelly-fish.tumblr.com) over on her tumblr. You can also find me on tumblr [@daydreamdestiel](http://daydreamdestiel.tumblr.com) or on twitter [@DaydreamDestiel](https://twitter.com/DaydreamDestiel). Thanks for your patience, guys. <3<3<3
> 
> Rebloggable link for the fic can be found [here](http://peanutbutter-jelly-fish.tumblr.com/post/172386311765/its-been-too-long-guys-%C3%A7d%C3%A7-3-go-read)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahaha. I got so excited about [@peanutbutter-jelly-fish](http://peanutbutter-jelly-fish.tumblr.com)'s art that I forgot to write you guys a note. 
> 
> I just wanted to say, "hi" and "enjoy" and "oh my gosh please squee with me over the freaking fantastic artwork."

 

* * *

After that day it became a new normal for Cas to go and sit with Dean at lunch for varying periods of time. Some days he stayed the whole time and some days he got called away by his friends. He tried—more than once—to get Dean to join them. Each time, Dean turned him down. He said he'd rather spend some time quietly by himself outside before class and Cas always let him go a little reluctantly.

Still, Cas was enjoying their time together. Their talks. Even if they were mostly superficial. It was cute the way that Dean blushed and stuttered in his presence. He'd thought that that might fade the longer they spent getting to know one another but after a week and a half, it was still going strong. As if something was keeping him from being able to fully relax around Cas—which wasn't ideal.  Especially not now that Cas’d realized he couldn't stay away from Dean, not even for Dean's own good. Maybe that made him selfish, it probably did… but he couldn't help it.

There was just something about Dean that made him want in ways he genuinely never had before. He liked Dean. He liked being the reason for a smile on his face, or sometimes his narrowed eyes when Cas gently teased him. He kind of wished that he could get Dean to come out of his shell a little more, but he guessed after having spent the last fourteen years of his life in what was basically public solitary confinement, Dean's people skills were a little rusty.

At lunch though, Dean was definitely getting used to his presence. He'd stopped flinching every time Cas sat down at his table and he’d evolved from mainly one word answers to longer sentences. Sometimes whole paragraphs if Cas got him on the right subjects, like his car, Vonnegut, pie and it's clear superiority to cake. Cas's lips twitched up.

“What?” Dean asked, glancing over and meeting Cas's eyes, a faint pink stain of a blush on his cheeks. Cas raised an eyebrow, and Dean rolled his eyes. “You keep staring, dude. Did I get something on my face?”

Without thought, Cas's tiny smile grew into something a little predatory. “Maybe you're just nice to look at.”

Dean's cheeks darkened and he dropped his gaze. Suddenly he was back to shy. It was equal parts adorable and frustrating. “You can't just say shit like that,” Dean muttered.

“Like what?” Cas asked, fake innocence in his voice. “That I find you attractive? That you're good looking?”

“I'm not—” Dean peered back at him with this embarrassed sort of frown. “No one thinks that.”

“Then they're all stupid because it's true,” Cas said casually. How the hell Dean could ever look in the mirror and not know that he was telling the truth was baffling. Then again, maybe not if no one’d ever told him so. Cas's stomach clenched and he decided that one way or another, he'd prove it to Dean in time. “And it's unlikely that I'll stop telling you, so you should probably get used to it.”

“Cas,” Dean's warning tone was half-hearted protest at best.

“Dean.” There was a tense moment before Cas took pity on him and changed the subject. “So you said Led Zeppelin is your favorite band. Name your top thirteen tracks.”

Dean's head tilted curiously. “Why?”

Ambivalently, Cas shrugged. “You can learn a lot from a person's favorite music. And maybe I’d like to check yours out.”

A pleased half-smile crossed Dean's face and then his brows furrowed in thought. He leaned his elbow on the table and rested his head on his fist, took his time with his answer. Before he got around to voicing said answer, the lunch bell rang and Dean grimaced as he casted a furtive glance around at everyone filing out.

“We could skip instead of you rushing,” Cas offered. He hoped Dean would say yes even though he knew he probably wouldn't.

“Nah.” Dean shook his head as he crammed his stuff quickly into his bag. “My parents are already pissed that I missed so much.”

Grudgingly, Cas nodded his understanding and pushed down the pang of longing that settled in his chest over the thought of parents who cared like that. Maybe Dean saw something dismal in his expression, or maybe he was just finally warming up, either way, his palm squeezed Cas's shoulder and he said, “Thanks for the offer though, Cas. See ya later?”

“Of course, Dean,” he replied and watched as Dean walked away, all broad shoulders and narrow hips that melted into the crowd of people who were leaving the cafeteria.

“Oh, you got it bad,” Charlie declared as she dropped into the chair Dean had just vacated. “I mean, I knew you had it bad when you started ditching us to hang out with him, but you're taking this whole lovesick puppy thing to a whole new level, dude.”

Gustily, Cas sighed. He rubbed his closed eyelids with his fingers and thumb. “I like him, alright?”

His eyes fluttered open when he was met with silence and he found Charlie staring at him wide-eyed, lips parted. For a second he wondered if she'd had some sort of a stroke but then her lips split into a huge grin.

“What?”

“Cas, you _never_ like people,” she smugly informed him as if he didn't know that. “Heck, I'm barely sure you like _me_ most days.”

“I like you most days,” Cas defensively replied, arms crossed.

“Oh, wow,” Charlie said with a sarcastic smile. “Two confessions in one day.” She fanned herself and pretended to swoon. “Most days. Man, you really know how to make a girl feel special. Dean better watch out with those kinds of moves.”

Grumpily, Cas glared at her, but Charlie just sat back up in the chair and bumped her shoulder against his, “So, what's up with you two? Why the sudden interest? Was it love at first sight when you gave him his backpack back?”

Contemplating his answer, Cas chewed on his top lip. He could put her off and lie about it. She'd know he was lying through his teeth though, and he didn't want to hurt her feelings. Plus she was right, he had been abandoning them at lunch.

“He's… Dean is my soulmate.”

“Dude!” Charlie's fist as it slammed into the meat of his bicep wasn't entirely unexpected. It still fucking hurt though. He scowled at her as he rubbed where she'd landed her punch. “You knew for months and you never told me! The hell, Cas?”

“I'm—”

“I told you like five minutes after I woke up about Meg!” Charlie said with hurt shining in her hazel eyes.

Cas's chest clenched uncomfortably, regret thick in his throat. “I know but—”

“I mean, I get that it's complicated and all, with both of your histories and your whole needing sex to live thing. So you've had a lot to—wait.” Charlie's gaze on him sharpened and he knew she was taking in the slight bruising under his eyes and the unusual paleness of his skin. Cas fought not to squirm in his seat like a guilty child. “Oh, man. You dumb motherfucker.”

“I can explain,” he said quickly, and her eyebrows rose in challenge. “He's… Dean's sort of… fragile in a way. He's so strong, don't get me wrong. He's amazing, but he's got a lot of issues with self-worth and I can tell he's still afraid of hurting me.”

“Gee, that doesn't sound familiar at all,” Charlie mumbled under her breath. “And this relates to you not feeding because?”

“Because, Charlie, he needs a slow build up or he'll freak out. And I think he'll run. I'm not prepared to lose him,” Cas answered, voice too raw for his own comfort.

“Still not following. You knew for months and you ploughed thr—” she covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes flashing with understanding. “You can't anymore. Something changed and it has to be him now.”

Dejectedly, Cas nodded. “The idea of someone else is… repugnant.”

“Cas, you gotta talk to him. How long can you even go like this?” Charlie asked, horrified.

He shrugged, shifting his gaze away from her. “I don't know. Since I first fed, I've never gone this long. I guess we'll find out.” He cut his eyes back to Charlie's, and gripped her forearm as he implored her seriously. “I can't tell him yet, I won't push him and you need to promise me you won't interfere. He needs more time and I intend to give it to him.”

Charlie's lips pressed into a thin unimpressed line. Her face stony for a long pause before she deflated. “Fine, I'll promise on one condition.” Cas lifted a brow. “I'm your best friend, and I think it's time I made friends with him too. Set it up for me to come visit at lunch tomorrow.”

“Charlie, he's—”

She cut him off, “Super shy, yeah, yeah. Give him notice so he can mentally prepare for the awesomeness that’s me. Look, he needs more friends than just you. So, let's break him in slow.”

Last ditch, he tried, “You think Meg’ll like that?”

“Probably not, but I can get her to play nice.” Charlie smirked deviously, and Cas rolled his eyes.

“Fine, deal.”

And that was how Cas found himself waiting at Dean's locker before the last bell of the day rang. He'd already ditched his class after lunch, so he figured what was one more and ditched the next one too in order to make sure he caught Dean before he left. The bell sounded out and Cas released a slow breath, weirdly nervous about how this was going to go.

A minute later Dean walked up to him, brow furrowed, clearly confused about Cas's presence at his locker. He hadn't done this before, so Cas didn't blame him. He was gorgeous though, green eyes curious and lips pushed out in concentration like he was trying to figure out what was going on before he got there.

“Cas?” he asked once he'd moved out of the bustle of people surrounding them and stood directly in front of him. 

“Yes… hello, Dean.”

Smooth. Internally, he rolled his eyes at himself and moved out of the way, so that Dean could get into his locker.

“What's up?” Dean's attention was mostly on his combination and then digging things out of his locker, but Cas forged on.

“I know that people aren't really your strong suit…” Cas trailed off, still unsure of how to approach this. “And you can say no—”

Dean closed his locker, jacket in hand and leaned back against it, a little entertained smile on his face. “Spit it out, Cas.”

Dryly, Cas swallowed and offered him a half-smile that was way more confident than he felt. “Charlie wants to meet you. She said she wants to sit with us for a little bit at lunch tomorrow. We've been best friends since—”

“Kindergarten. I know,” Dean said, then flushed a little. Cas's smile spread into a real one, because Dean had just pretty much admitted to being aware of him for a long, long time.

“Yeah. She collects people against their will and makes them her friends. It's sort of her thing,” Cas told him, only half-joking.

After a few seconds of silence, Dean finally squared his shoulders.  “Um. Okay. I guess. Just for a little bit. I'm not—people are—”

“I get it,” Cas said softly. “If it gets to be too much, I'll tell her to go, okay?”

Dean hummed and shrugged into his coat. “I better go. Gotta pick up Sam.”

Cas nodded and said goodbye. He tried not stare as Dean walked away, but wound up doing it anyway. The bottom of Dean's leather jacket left just enough room for him to check out the bottom half of Dean's perky ass. A pang of hunger clawed in his stomach and he fought down the urge to catch up to Dean. Slow, he reminded himself. The emptiness in his gut hissed back at him, but he ignored it.

Somehow he made it through another few hours alone in his apartment that afternoon before work, another night alone after it. These days it seemed more empty than ever in his apartment. If Charlie and Meg hadn't been out on a date, he probably would've texted Charlie to come hang out.

As it was, he ended up with his sketchbook in his lap and his headphones in his ears. Listening to Dead Kennedy's as he drew. Color pencils glided over the paper and after a while he was staring down at Dean's face, those shy downcast eyes and dark pink stained cheeks. Just as he put the finishing touches on Dean's freckles—and boy was that a detailed job—his phone buzzed in his lap.

A text from an unknown number made Cas suddenly glad he'd slipped Dean his number a few days ago because it read, _Hi, it's Dean. Winchester._

Cas's lips drew up in a smile and a little flash of warmth blossomed in his chest. _Hello Dean._

 _This is stupid,_ Dean sent him back and then another in quick succession: _You asked for my top songs. So. I made you a playlist. Here:_

Beneath his note was a link to a Google Play playlist titled Dean's top 13 Zepp traxx. He tapped back over to Dean's message, figuring he'd check out the list after he finished texting.

 _It's the opposite of stupid actually_ , Cas replied. _Looking forward to listening. Wanna hear what I was playing?_

_Yeah, sure._

Cas sent him the link to Dead Kennedy's album Fresh Fruit For Rotting Vegetables.

_Sweet. I'm gonna go lay down and listen. Headed to bed. See you tomorrow?_

_Of course Dean._ Cas pushed away the very, very tempting image of Dean in his bed and all thoughts of phone sex or sexting. At least for now. _Tomorrow,_ he sent _._

His apartment felt a little less suffocating for some reason after their exchange. And considering that he was staring down at a meticulous likeness of Dean's face—he didn't really have to wonder why. It was kind of amazing and terrifying that a few little texts and a playlist from Dean could evoke such a reaction from Cas. He tiredly rubbed a hand over his face and stretched from his position curled up on the couch.

Once he'd managed to make it into bed, he pulled up Dean's link and hit play on the first track: Ramble On. Eyes closed, he listened through song after song in the dark and gave each one his full attention. Somewhere between In The Light and Ten Years Gone, Cas decided Dean likely had a somewhat repressed romantic side. Gallows Pole and When The Levee Breaks made his chest ache a little. Eventually, he fell into a fitful sleep, still listening to Dean's songs.

The next day, the cafeteria was crowded with the usual people when Cas made his way over to Dean's table, Charlie in tow. His exhaustion was already starting to wear on him, but a bit of adrenaline went a long way. Back at their table, Gabe was doing his best to distract Meg from staring murder at them by apparently annoying her to death, and Cas was actually pretty grateful to him. Dean didn't need more attention than absolutely necessary for this. He already looked nervous, eyes down on his lunch until they sat down.

“Hi,” Dean said shyly as he glanced up through his lashes, cheeks a shade of pink that Cas had started to suspect was permanent by then and Charlie made an undignified baby dinosaur noise in response before Cas jostled her with his shoulder.

“Hi, Dean,” he replied pointedly as he squinted at Charlie.

“Hi, I'm Charlie and we're going to be bffs. It's not really optional,” she told him with a smirk. “Cas and I come as a set.”

“No we don't,” Cas deadpanned, just to be difficult. Charlie flipped him the bird, but otherwise ignored him.

Dean's smile at her appeared involuntary, like it surprised him. They sat down and somehow Charlie and Dean started talking about Star Wars so Cas zoned out. He picked half-heartedly at the bag of Doritos he'd brought for lunch, not really hungry for food. At least it served as a very mild distraction from his more carnal hunger.

He somewhat listlessly watched as Charlie worked her magic on Dean. She got him to talk about himself a little and about his favorite movies. Their conversation about Die Hard spanned ten minutes all on its own, and Cas thought maybe he should actually watch it sometime. Just to see if it actually merited their enthusiasm, based on the lines they quoted to each other, he was skeptical.

Overall, he was glad that everything was going so smoothly, because he frankly didn't even remotely have the energy to keep up. His thoughts were distant, sluggish, and he struggled to stay awake enough to pay any sort of attention to whatever topic they moved onto. Maybe he'd skip the class he had after lunch and take a nap in the library before Art. It was pretty much the only class he actually liked, anyway.

Before he knew it the bell had buzzed, effectively shutting down the good time Dean and Charlie were having. He studied Dean hastily shoving his stuff in his bag, a little flustered in his rush. Cute. God, Charlie was right, he had it bad. Dean's little fond glance back at him before he walked out of the cafeteria spread warmth in Cas's chest.

“You guys are gross,” Charlie announced, affection in her voice a contradiction to her words.

“Are not.”

“Are. Disgustingly cute.” She hesitated a brief second. “And not that I really wanna think about it, well… much. You really, really need to tap that, Cas. You look like crap and you were barely aware of what we were saying. At the very least, you gotta talk to him about what's going on.”

Cas sighed. “We already went over this, Charlie.”

“Dude, I know, okay? But there's only so much suffering I can watch you face before I snap. And I like Dean, who _clearly_ likes _you_ by the way. You should see how he looks at you when you're not looking,” she said, then huffed a sigh of her own. “I know you're not gonna take my advice because you're a stubborn asshole—but please, for the love of everything, think about it?”

Cas nodded because he knew Charlie was right. Of course, that didn't mean he was going to take her advice. He was still afraid he'd push too hard and scare Dean off. And it wasn't like his fear was unfounded. Dean was still skittish sometimes, and they hadn't even talked about what they were to each other yet. He hadn't even begun to gauge how Dean felt about him beyond tolerating his presence.

It was weird. Usually he didn't have any trouble sealing the deal, with Dean though, he didn't wanna rush it. He couldn't. He'd be fine. Hopefully.

From the start Dean's day was crap. He’d woken up late, had realized his clothes hadn't dried when he'd put them in the dryer last night, so he was stuck wearing too-tight jeans and a black t-shirt from last year under the one flannel shirt he'd found under his bed that didn't smell bad. And that was just the start.

Sam had pried about him and Cas because he’d heard from someone that they were hanging out and Dean wasn’t quite ready to have that conversation so he’d snapped at him—he hated snapping at Sam. He was the one person that Dean’d always been able to talk to but this was just too fresh. Too confusing. They’d been late to school and Dean’s emotions were way too vivid. He couldn't handle the way he was feeling, and he definitely couldn't handle a crowd right now.

So at lunch instead of going to his usual table in the cafeteria, he went to a quiet hallway with no one around. He sat on the floor in the corner of the far wall and made himself eat his lunch even though he wasn't hungry. Dean hoped that if he stuck to his schedule it’d help even him out. He scarfed down sandwich he barely tasted, a bag of plain chips, and a bottle of coke. Then there was nothing to do but wait silently for the bell to ring—to just ignore that ache in his gut that wanted to tug him down to the cafeteria. Or maybe more accurately, to Cas.

He’d just started chewing a piece of Dentyne Ice when Cas walked into the hall like Dean's thoughts alone had summoned him—this concerned, half-desperate look on his face. In surprise, Dean reflexively swallowed his gum. Neither of them said anything as Cas approached. Dean was too shocked that Cas’d come looking for him and Cas seemed… tired. More like exhausted, Dean noted. His usually tan complexion was lackluster and pale, there were dark bruises under his eyes. Now that he'd found Dean, he looked dead on his feet.

It was Dean’s turn to be concerned when Cas sank down beside him and let out a huge yawn.

“What's up with you?” Dean asked, voice tight with concern. Cas raised a brow and Dean rolled his eyes, flapped a hand at him, “You're all… I dunno… tired-looking.”

Sleepily, Cas blinked at him, eyes a little wide and brows furrowed like he was having trouble tracking. He shrugged a shoulder and leaned his head back against the wall. “Hungry.”

“What?”

Half-lidded eyes on Dean that were a much duller shade of blue than usual, Cas sighed. His expression was torn, but he finally admitted, “Haven't fed in a while.”

Dean's stomach swooped. “Why?”

It was common knowledge that Cas slept around, and while Dean hadn't been jealous per se, he'd also actively kept himself from considering too deeply who Cas might’ve feeding with lately. Cas’s cheeks went pink and he dropped his eyes from Dean’s face—and oh—Cas hadn’t been feeding because of  _ him.  _ Which was both pleasing and shocking in turns. Dean bit his lip, Cas still wasn’t looking at him.

This huge warm  _ feeling _ built up in his chest and impulsively, Dean reached a hand across Cas, grabbed onto his bicep to make him look back at him, he just needed to see. There was a second where their gazes locked and Dean felt like he couldn’t catch his breath—and the crazy part was that he didn’t even mind. Who needed air when his lungs were swelling with this bubbly light rush of joy.

And then Cas wet his lips, and leaned in just a little, like it wasn't even conscious. Like he was being drawn into Dean’s orbit and there was just nowhere else in the whole entire world that Dean could ever possibly have wanted be.

A little too forcefully, maybe, Dean closed the space between their mouths, but Cas didn’t seem to mind. He just groaned into it. The cool metal of Cas’s lip ring was a hard electric contrast to the soft heat of his lips and Dean’s heart slammed out of control, erratic, excited, against his ribcage. One of Cas's hands came up and cupped Dean’s jaw, angled him better and then Cas’s tongue slid along the seam of his lips, wet and hot and God, so good. On instinct, Dean parted his own. 

The first brush of Cas’s tongue inside his mouth zipped a strange kind of pleasure through Dean's body and then Cas was  _ really _ kissing him. Dean’d never done this before but either his body knew what to do or Cas was just  _ really _ fuckin’ good at it ‘cause Dean’d never felt this good in his entire  _ life. _ Hot and sexy, and it felt like something massive was building inside of him. A warm sensation that started low in his gut and he recognized it in a vague sort of way, but it didn’t make sense—not from just a kiss.

Cas bit his bottom lip, a gentle nip and Dean’s skin vibrated with the rush of how amazing it felt. Too hot, he was too hot, but he couldn’t stop—didn't want to. He just kept taking everything Cas was giving him. Aching hard in his jeans and moaning into Cas's mouth with these little sounds he couldn't hold back, and half-whispered gasps of Cas's name.

So, so, so fucking good. He wanted—fuck. He was so—and then Cas’s teeth scraped over the sensitive inside of Dean’s bottom lip. Dean’s whole body arched, strung tight for one drawn out borderline painful moment before intense pulses of scorching pleasure rocked him to his core.

“Cas, Cas,  _ Cas,” _ he chanted breathlessly, bokenly, against Cas's lips as the tension in his body broke.

His eyes were squeezed tightly shut while his breaths kept coming in harsh pants. It took Dean a long time to come down from his high, mouth slack against Cas's, fingers still curled tight around Cas's arm. Warm and hazy, realization dawned on him slowly, and his cheeks burned scalding. He’d just  _ jizzed _ in his pants.  _ At school. _ From a  _ kiss. _

He kept his eyes closed for a moment, wishing the ground would just swallow him up, so damn embarrassed but unwilling to let go of Cas, of this too-big feeling that flowed between them, to face reality just yet.

A weird, sort of gross smell caught his attention though, and Dean noticed the way Cas was still breathing harshly against his lips. Concern jolted in his stomach and his eyes flew open. God, it was so much worse than jizzing in his pants—he’d burned his freaking  _ handprint _ into Cas’s bicep. Like he was the one who’d been burned, Dean yanked his hand away and cradled it against his chest, wide-eyed in his panic. He stammered, “Sorry… I… God, Cas. I’m so sorry.”

At that, Cas’s eyes fluttered open too, confused glaze to them as if he didn’t have a sweet clue what Dean was apologizing for. He confirmed as much when he asked, “Why?”

Horrified, Dean glanced down at Cas’s arm, eyes stinging. Cas finally noticed what was wrong, but he just smirked like it was something cute. Except it wasn’t cute, Dean’d lost control and  _ hurt _ him. So much for Dr. Lafitte’s theory about good feelings.

“I—we should get you to the doctor for that. I'm so sorry, Cas. I didn't mean to—”

“Dean.” Cas was sitting up straighter, eyes clear and blue and intent on Dean's. Dark smudges beneath them faded. “I'm fine, okay? It's no big deal. It's already healing. Incubus remember? Fast healing is a bonus.”

That didn't stop the downward spiral Dean was on though. God, he'd  _ hurt _ Cas. He'd used his power and hadn't even been aware he was doing it. Cas looked down and poked at the burnt hole in the dark grey shirt sleeve that surrounded the handprint. He looked up with a half-smile. “Gonna need a new shirt though.”

Dean's stomach twisted and he blinked hard in an attempt to hold back tears, he was losing it fast, barely hanging on by a tattered thread and he couldn't break, not here. Not where he could hurt Cas again. He had to go. In an instant, he scrambled to his feet, and had his backpack slung over his shoulder.

“I'm—I—Sorry,” Dean mumbled as he took off for the closest stairwell. He heard Cas calling him, but he didn't look back.

In record time, he was out in the parking lot, climbing into his car. As soon as he was buckled in, he peeled out of his spot and took off. His parents were gonna be pissed when they found out he’d cut class early again, but he was bottoming out.

He never should’ve let himself think that he could be with Cas. That he could be normal.  _ Nothing _ about him was normal. He couldn't put Cas at risk like that again. Not if he’d hurt him that badly from something as tiny as a damn kiss. No matter what Cas said, he’d left a permanent mark on Cas’s body, and even if Cas’s power let him heal faster than normal, it’d scar—and Dean had done that. The worst part was… some fucked up part of him  _ liked _ that he’d left a mark on Cas.

The fuck was wrong with him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you dying over that artwork? Because I definitely am. So much. Make sure you give [@peanutbutter-jelly-fish](http://peanutbutter-jelly-fish.tumblr.com) lots of love, and follow her on tumblr because her art is fantastic! 
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr too [@daydreamdestiel](http://daydreamdestiel.tumblr.com).
> 
> <3<3
> 
> Link to [reblog.](http://peanutbutter-jelly-fish.tumblr.com/post/172934536960/yeeeeeeeeeessssssss-kisssssssssssssssssssessssss)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay!! We're past the halfway point now. Sorry it's been a while, I promise we're working hard to get this out to you guys. <3<3

* * *

Physically, Cas felt better than he had in a long time. He wasn’t so exhausted that it hurt just to blink for starters. His brain had finally lost that fuzzy layer that’d muffled his thoughts, made them slow. The problem with that was now that he had his full cognitive abilities back he fully appreciated just how much he’d screwed up with Dean. He’d let his hunger get to the point where he hadn’t been fully in control of himself and now Dean thought that it was his fault he’d lost control. The truth was that the only one to blame for what’d happened was Cas.

His stomach churned with guilt, his skin was too tight. He hadn’t meant to push Dean too far—but he had and he felt awful about it. Not because Dean had marked him, but because Dean was clearly torn up over it. When really, if Cas'd been a little less hungry it wouldn't've been so intense in the first place. Dean would’ve been able to control himself just fine and right now, things would’ve looked a hell of a lot less bleak.

Instead of lying face down across his bed in his pathetically empty apartment, wallowing in self-pity, he could’ve been celebrating the fact that Dean Winchester had kissed him for the first time. That his _soulmate_ had kissed him. It seemed like kind of a big deal to him. Love songs and movies and poems were written about this sort of thing, and it’d been good—so, so good. Even if it wasn’t for fate and destiny and all that crap, he _still_ wouldn’t have been able to walk away from Dean after that.

Not once he’d gotten a taste of him… and fuck, what a taste. Sweet, pliant, and wholehearted, Dean’s inhibitions had been nonexistent in that moment and Cas could just imagine what he'd have been like if he’d really let loose. He could picture what Dean’d look like stretched out on Cas’s bed—his to do what he wanted with—how delicious it would be when Dean gave it all up for him. Like apple pie innocence and the salt-sweat taste of endless stretches of skin he hoped would be every bit as freckled as Dean's face.

Heat surged in his gut, arousal and desire fattened his cock. Cas pushed his hips down into his mattress and his breath pushed out on a low groan. Suddenly, he was too constricted in his clothes. 

He yanked his shirt over his head, flipped onto his back and peeled off pants that were far too-tight.

Just briefly, he teased himself with the palm of his hand over his boxer-briefs before he got those off too. He probably looked kind of ridiculous in nothing but a pair of black socks, legs spread and bent out at the knees, but it wasn’t like anyone was there to see him anyway. Images of Dean flashed through his mind as he ran his hands up his chest, scratched his fingernails back down hard enough to leave red marks.

He pictured Dean bent over, ass up and back arched. Maybe he’d have little dimples above his ass that Cas could dip his tongue into before he moved further down. He'd start off slow, little flicks and circles of his tongue over the tightly furled rim of Dean's hole. The heady taste of him would make Cas moan as he slowly sank his tongue inside. Dean'd echo him with a high whimper that'd sound all wrecked and needy. His thighs would tremble and he'd shiver with every deep push of Cas's tongue, every curl of it.

Hard, leaking, aching for touch, his cock jutted straight up toward his belly button, thick vein down the tan shaft of it that he thumbed along. He brushed over the dark red rim of his pink head, and then over the top.

Slick precome pearled up at the tip and he spread it around with his thumb before he circled his palm over it in a slippery shock of sensation that curled his toes. He imagined it was Dean’s hand, nervous when he first circled his fingers, but quickly catching on once he realized it was pretty easy. He remembered the sensation of Dean’s swollen lips on his, the slide of his tongue.

Cas snugged his fingers tighter, sped up and let his hips roll up into it, breaths stuttering out through his teeth, lip bitten hard as he held back moans out of habit. With his free hand, his fingertips found the handprint shaped scar that Dean’d left on his bicep. Shiny pink and healed already, skin sensitive. He pressed his palm against it and remembered the way it’d felt when Dean came. The blinding blue-hot flash of sensation that’d slammed into him. Pleasure laced with a perfect searing pain that’d left him breathless, stunned with how good it was. The shuddering gasp of his name that’d sounded as if it’d been torn from Dean's throat.

Tension in his gut wound tighter, and Cas chased his orgasm with rapid flicks of his wrist. So fucking close and he pictured the wide-eyed face Dean’d make as he slid slowly inside of him for the first time. Cas would use his power to make it easier for him, make sure he felt nothing but the pleasure of it. He’d be tight and hot and-

“Fuck, Dean,” he grunted on a trembling breath as everything crested in a sudden rush of euphoria. He came in jerky hot pulses all over himself, then melted into the mattress, hand still loosely cupped around his slowly softening cock.

When he eventually drifted down from the high of his climax, he grimaced at the mess he’d made. He kind of regretted that he hadn’t grabbed a tissue or even cupped his hand to catch his release. Now he was gonna have to find the energy to shower before work.

Guilt caught up with him, too. Because Dean was probably still upset—he was probably beating himself up over something Cas’d just used to achieve one of the most spectacular orgasms of his life. Which was really saying something, because there was _a lot_ to compare it to. Not the point, he shivered now that his sweat was cooling, chest heavy with an uncomfortable mix of loneliness and regret. Unhappily, he let out a harsh sigh and rubbed his clean hand over his face.

It was shitty that Dean felt bad about this. There had to be a way to make him see that Cas was fine with it—at fault for it, actually. He took his socks off, climbed out of bed and padded naked to the bathroom while he tried to think about what he could do.

Under the hot spray of water, he thought about what he knew. And what he knew was that Dean was upset about hurting him, scarring him. Dean was clearly freaking out thinking that it was all his fault for losing control. Cas hadn’t gotten a chance to really explain what’d actually happened to Dean before he’d run off, so he definitely needed to do that tomorrow. And he needed to apologize for letting it get so bad… plus tell him that he should’ve just talked to him about it.

Or at least _act_ like he was sorry for not talking to him about it. He still didn’t think that pressuring Dean into giving something he probably hadn’t been ready for was the right course of action either. Though he _was_ sorry that the outcome of his desire to protect Dean had been that Dean’d ended up losing control when it was obvious to anyone who looked that Dean needed that semblance of complete control over himself. Cas wasn’t sure that even after he explained what’d gone wrong that Dean would accept the fact that he wasn’t responsible. At the very least, he was worried that Dean would retain blame for ‘hurting’ Cas.

But… maybe he could do something to _show_ Dean that he liked the mark. Cas turned off the water and climbed out of the shower. He toweled off and then wandered back to his bedroom, got himself into fresh boxer-briefs, black jeans and a black t-shirt. Lastly, he pulled on a black hoodie.

Even then, he was a little cold with his wet hair, so he ended up back in bed underneath his blankets, pillows pushed out of the way, and his sketchbook in front of him, markers scattered around it. Really, he oughta eat before he had to leave but he was suddenly consumed with an idea that he had to sketch out.

Shades of blue and green filled up the page, intertwined and climbed up an arm. Shoulder to wrist. In the middle of the bicep, was the pink shape of a handprint. His first try didn't quite come out like he wanted it to, so he sat up and got more comfortable, then flipped to a clean page and started again. This time he got it right.

It was the same basic idea with a few tweaks here and there, and it was perfect. He'd always planned to fill up both arms, he’d just been waiting on something meaningful. A tattoo couldn't get much more meaningful than this.

Once he’d finished sketching it, Cas glanced over at the alarm clock on his nightstand and _shit!_ If he didn’t hurry up he’d be late. He threw off the covers and grabbed a pair of socks from his drawer, quickly yanked them on and then grabbed his sketchbook from the bed.

At the door he tugged on his combat boots and leather jacket. Rapidly wrapped a scarf around his neck and pulled up the hood of his hoodie. He let himself out, sketchbook tucked under his arm, and locked up before he got his gloves on.

As usual, the walk to the shop was soothing. It helped him to mentally prepare for the potentially obnoxious and absolutely embarrassing conversation he was about to have with Balthazar. The chill in the air barely fazed him—might’ve had something to do with the way his cheeks were burning.

It was weird that pretty much anything to do with sex he could talk about no problem. Feelings though… were messy and confusing and awkward. Strangely, though, he kind of liked it.

Later on, just before closing, he brought up what he wanted Balthazar to do for him. Unsurprisingly, Balthazar was concerned.

“Show me,” he demanded, eyes locked on Cas’s bicep. Wordlessly, Cas pulled up the short sleeve on his t-shirt and exposed the scar. “Cas, that’s-”

“Not Dean’s fault,” Cas interrupted, gaze hard. “It was mine.”

Balthazar frowned, “Yes, well, you might be partially to blame, but I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

Lospided, Cas grinned. “Didn’t hurt. Matter of fact, it felt pretty damn good.”

“Yes, I’m sure it was fantastic. Everything your little teenage wet dreams have ever longed for, but I’m not—If this happens again? Castiel, it _cannot_ happen again.” Balthazar looked at him like he was trying to force his conviction into his mind.

“It won’t,” Cas replied, hands held defensively in front of him. “Trust me, it won’t.” Balthazar still looked mildly skeptical. “So, are you going to help me, or not? I have the stencil ready, I just need those magic hands.”

“Magic hands that were _supposed_ to be busy with a very charming young man tonight.” Balthazar smirked. “Alright, you caught me, two young men and a gorgeous scottish redhead that I’ve been dying to get in the—” at Cas’s unmoved stare, Balthazar sighed. “But no, yes, I’ll cancel those truly stunning plans to help you, as apparently I’ve become the type of person who gives up perfectly phenomenal foursomes to aid hapless teenage idiots.”

Cas rolled his eyes, but his lips pulled into a smile anyway. “Thank you.”

After Balthazar shot off a few rapid texts and Cas had set up his station for him, they settled in, Cas in the reclining chair and Balthazar on the rolling stool. Balthazar quickly selected the colours that matched Cas’s design and lined the stencil up. He peeled it off, leaving behind a blue outline of the design on Cas's skin.

“Go check it in the mirror, you know the drill,” Balthazar said.

Cas got up and made sure it was positioned correctly, and then they started. Maybe Cas had a high pain tolerance, but he never found that tattoos hurt all that much. The cat-scratch sensation of it always faded quickly into a sort of numbness that was just edged with enough pain to be addictive, and he was mostly able to tune it out.

The exception to that had been when he’d had the tattoo on his wrist done. That’d been a bitch to sit through, but he’d done it, anyway.

While Balthazar worked, they chatted a bit about what was going on in Balthazar’s life lately. Mostly, it was the same old same old, partying and new people to sleep with every weekend.

“Do you ever get tired of it?” Cas asked, and Balthazar shrugged a shoulder and pursed his lips.

“It passes the time, I suppose.” Balthazar answered. One of Cas’s eyebrows rose. “Not all of us are lucky enough to meet our soulmate in school. Some of us might never find them.”

Balthazar was watching what he was doing, eyes on his work, and Cas frowned. He guessed he hadn’t spent a whole lot of time considering why Balthazar filled up his free time with meaningless sex, but it bothered him that maybe part of it was a sense of hopelessness. Balthazar was a good guy, and he deserved someone who made him happy. “You will.”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’m perfectly happy the way things are. Like I said, it passes the time. I fully enjoy myself,” Balthazar said with a cocky smile on his face. “Sometimes several times a night.”

“Ah, the perks of being an incubus.” Cas chuckled. “Low refractory period forever.”

“Multiple orgasms,” Balthazar added with a broad smirk.

Cas's nose wrinkled, “And, that's about as much as I ever want to know about your sex life.”

“Whatever you tell yourself to sleep at night,” Balthazar sniffed haughtily.

They both cracked up, and then Balthazar looked up at him with a glare. “Hold still, Cas. Almost done. I love how fast watercolors go.”

“Me too,” Cas admitted as he glanced down at his arm.

It was just the way he’d pictured it. By morning it’d be healed and he could show Dean. Hopefully it would help him convince Dean to give them a chance. Because it’d happened gradually, but Dean’d gotten under his skin.

There was no way he could pretend anymore that he didn’t feel this big, all-encompassing pull toward Dean. He wanted Dean more than he’d ever wanted anything in his entire life, and that might be a little frightening, but much, much more frightening was the idea of losing Dean before they ever really got started.

Dean’d played hooky as long as he could, but his mom’d finally caught on that his sudden case of the flu wasn’t viral so much as it was completely fake. She’d gotten that sad worried look on her face and gave him a patented mom talk designed to make him feel better about whatever was making him upset. It was meant to encourage him to open up to her, but he couldn’t.

For a lot of reasons, not the least of which was that his mom was the last person he wanted to tell that when Cas kissed him, he embarrassingly came in his pants and burned his palm print into Cas's arm.

So now Dean was sitting in his car in the school parking lot and dreading having to head inside. His stomach was still hot with humiliation and his head throbbed faintly. He’d been able to push it down for a couple days when he didn’t have to face Cas—face what he’d done to him.

For fourteen damn years, he’d kept his powers on a leash. He hadn’t even manifested a flame, and yet, he must’ve to burn Cas like that. Acid scorched the back of his throat and he swallowed it down. He needed to get this under control. He was off-balance, but he had to recover, and fast.

Maybe if he’d been able to bring himself to admit the reason that he’d been staying home to Mom, she’d’ve let him have a little more time away, but he hadn't. He couldn't bring himself to tell anyone. He wasn’t ready to see disappointment and fear in their eyes when they looked at him. Why couldn’t he just be _normal?_

Dean took deep slow breaths while he tried to calm down. He concentrated on Thunderstruck’s lyrics, sang along in his head and tuned out his surroundings until the song was over. He felt a little steadier—still way off from his baseline normal, but at least he didn’t feel like he was gonna fly apart at the sight of Cas. Even considering that, he wasn’t exactly gonna rush to find him.

It might be better if Dean avoided Cas for today. He was still too raw. So Dean didn’t head for his locker like he usually would, he just found his way into class and sat by himself until Mrs. Harvelle showed up shortly before the bell.

“Morning, Dean,” she said warmly as she slid into her seat, and took out her laptop.

“Good morning,” he replied, and then focused his attention to the copy of Slaughterhouse Five he was reading for the second time.

He was so absorbed that he almost hadn’t noticed that the bell had rung and everyone had already filtered in. With a near silent sigh, he tucked his book away and dug out his notebook and a pen. His morning classes went smoothly, and falling into his routine soothed a bit of Dean’s ruffled feathers.

Even so, when lunchtime arrived he still didn’t think he could face Cas. He wasn’t really hungry either, so he hid out in the gym behind a stack of mats. Tucked away back there, no one was gonna bother him and he could mediate a little in peace.

At first, Dean’d been pretty damn skeptical when Benny had suggested meditation. Seemed a little hippy-dippy to him, but now he loved it. He’d just gotten really into the flow of his breathing and started relaxing when a body dropped down beside him and jolted him back to reality. His eyelashes fluttered open and his eyes focused on Cas, half-smile on his face and one eyebrow quirked.

“Don’t mind me,” Cas said, “keep doing your breathing thing, we can talk after.”

In his chest, Dean’s heart flipped over. He’d hidden himself in a place no one would think to look for him and Cas had found him anyway. How the hell did he _do_ that? Dean swallowed thickly and scrubbed a hand through his hair as he tore his gaze away from Cas, and stared at the floor in front of him instead.

“Meditation.”

“What?”

“The—Cas, the breathing thing I’m doing. I was meditating.”

“Oh,” Cas said, then schooched back. Settling himself against the wall behind them, he tilted his head against it and looked at Dean through eyes that were half-shut. Sexy, Dean’s mind supplied. He looked sexy like that, the line of his throat and the sharpness of his jaw accentuated. Dean had to twist back almost uncomfortably to look at him. “Well, if it helps,” he waved his hand at Dean, “keep going.”

Dean’s eyebrow raised, “While you watch?”

Cas grinned, all straight white teeth tinged with seduction. “I _do_ enjoy watching.”

Uh. Dean’s cheeks heated and he had to look away. “Yeah—uh, well… meditation’s not exactly a… uh, spectator sport.”

“Shame,” Cas lamented. “I enjoy watching you even more than most people.”

There was that little swoop in Dean’s stomach again. A feeling he couldn’t identify—somewhere in the range of pleased and embarrassed—spread in his chest. “Cas.…”

“If you’re not going to meditate at least come sit with me so we can talk,” Cas suggested, and that feeling in Dean's chest sank like a rock. Ice-water reminding him that he didn’t deserve to be in the same space as Cas, let alone to talk with him after what he’d done. “Hey. Cut it out and come back here.”

Startled, Dean blinked, but did as he was told. “I’m sorry,” he said as he reclined a little against the wall. “I never should’ve lost control of my power like that. I’ll stay away from you, okay?”

“Don’t be a dumbass, Dean,” Cas replied, eyes narrowed. “It wasn’t your fault. I let myself starve because I couldn’t get you out of my head and I didn’t want to pressure you. It was intense like that _because_ I was starving. You didn’t lose control of yourself, I made you lose it. Unintentionally, but regardless, I’m the one to blame. It won’t happen again because _I’ll_ control myself.”

As much as Dean wanted to believe that, it was crap. “Yeah, and if it’d been with someone normal instead of a freak like me, you never woulda gotten hurt. So.…” Dean shrugged, avoiding Cas’s eyes, too-intent on his face.

“Same logic, Dean: If I’d been normal instead of an incubus, I never would’ve made you lose it. Your first kiss would’ve been sweet instead of overwhelming.” Cas replied, and Dean frowned, ‘cause, okay, that was technically true… maybe… but it didn’t absolve him or anything.

“Yeah… well… still not exactly the same, and—”

Dean didn’t get the chance to finish his thought, to win their argument ‘cause Cas won it hands down when he cupped Dean’s cheek a second before he leaned forward and pressed their mouths together. This time he took it slow. Dean’s heart hammered wildly in his chest. This kiss was less frantic but no less good for it. It still made Dean’s lips tingle and his cheeks heat up—still made his stomach cartwheel in this terrifyingly amazing way and his fingertips itch to sink into Cas’s hair.

Slowly, Cas pulled back with a grin and said, “See. World didn’t end.”

The timid little smile Dean gave back to Cas was involuntary. He was caught up in those blue eyes, and still hazy with warmth from that kiss. He bit his lip and said, “Still, I hurt you, Cas. And I can't take that back—”

A rustle of fabric accompanied Cas shrugging off his leather jacket, and drew Dean’s attention. Cas rolled up his t-shirt sleeve and fully revealed a new tattoo that spanned the entirety of his arm from his shoulder to wisps above the treeline tattoo that circled his wrist. Blue and green swirls that almost reminded Dean of Aurora Borealis.

“You mean this?” Cas asked. “I liked it so much that I wanted to add to it. How many people can say they have their soulmate’s handprint on their body?”

Both of them flushed at that. It was the first time they'd mentioned the whole soulmate thing out loud. The good feeling in Dean’s chest grew again. He trailed his fingers along the new ink—green and blue, the symbolism wasn’t lost on him. His hand slipped over the handprint he’d left and Cas sucked in a tight breath. Dean jerked his hand away with a frown, “You shouldn't have to settle for me, Cas. For someone you gotta treat with kid gloves.”

Cas smirked, picking Dean’s hand up and placing it back on his bicep, eyes dark when Dean chanced a glance up at them. “Trust me, Dean, I _want_ to take my time with you. And all I see when I look at you is this hot guy that I like a lot for some reason. Even if he’s stubborn.”  

Dean's stomach practically tried to crawl out of his body with how happy that made him, how right it felt. Part of him still insisted that he needed to stay away from Cas, keep Cas safe from him, but that part rapidly shrank under the warmth and desire in Cas’s eyes and, shyly, Dean gave in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still dying over the art for this chapter, [@peanutbutter-jelly-fish](http://peanutbutter-jelly-fish.tumblr.com) always blows me away with her art, but oh my gosh. Make sure you give her some love in the comments or over on her tumblr. <3
> 
> You can find me on tumblr too [@daydreamdestiel](http://daydreamdestiel.tumblr.com). Thanks for all of the support and patience you guys, we really appreciate it.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, lemme just say [@peanutbutter-jelly-fish](http://peanutbutter-jelly-fish.tumblr.com) blows me away every chapter with her art. T.T She always gets the scene so perfect, and this is no exception. <3 
> 
> Second of all, I hope what you're about to read and see makes up for the bit of a wait. I'm preeeetttyyy sure you're gonna be happy with it. ;)

* * *

It rapidly became part of their routine for Dean to eat his lunch up in the hall where they'd had that first kiss, and for Cas to go and find him there. He liked to sink down just a little too close to Dean and watch a blush spread pretty across his cheeks at the press of their thighs together, heat through denim.

The nice thing about being an incubus was that intimacy wasn't just restricted to sex. He didn't need Dean to get off in order for him to feed. There was plenty of stuff that worked almost as well—sex was just the easiest to come by usually.

With Dean, Cas thrived on secret warm smiles, lingering touches and stolen kisses, on the things that Dean was quickly coming to feel for him. He supposed it would be a weird concept if someone was thinking about feeding in terms of food, because for an incubus feeding on intimacy didn't provide nourishment in the same way eating did.

It was more like his soul needed to absorb feelings related to love or sexual intimacy for him to survive. He still ate food—that kept his body nourished, but it was only half of the equation.

He'd explained as much to Dean already when he'd asked, with his cheeks flushed and his eyes downcast, if Cas needed more than what he was getting.

The honest truth was not really; not with the way Dean's feelings were growing stronger by the day. They were blossoming each time they sat together, talked, and flirted, with each time Dean slipped his hand into Cas's and held it, fingers entwined.

Every smirk from Cas that sent blood rushing to Dean's face—a faint hint of arousal on him that Cas could just barely scent—was like another hit, enough to soothe his appetite.

“Cas?”

He tilted his head from where it was tipped back against the wall behind them and looked over at Dean. “Hmm?”

“Nothin’,” Dean said with a smile so warm that Cas practically tasted the sunshine in it. “You just got quiet.”

“Sorry.” He glanced at Dean and then back up at the ceiling. His stomach somersaulted a little, but he’d been thinking about this alot. “I… I was wondering if you wanted to maybe—if you’re not busy—” he wiped his hands on the thighs of his pants. Since when was he unable to string together a coherent damn sentence? “Friday night… I thought if you, you know, want to… you could come over and hangout. Watch a movie or something?”

“Oh.” Dean looked surprised. Then that melted into nervousness but there was want on his face too, a little rush of pink that flashed over his cheeks, “Um.”

Cas smirked. “It’s just hanging out, Dean. I’ll even make you dinner.” Dean’s face lit up a little at that, and Cas tucked away that knowledge for future use. Apparently the way to Dean Winchester’s heart was definitely through his stomach. Cliché but whatever worked.

“I promise to be on my best behavior,” he added as he held up three fingers together, “scout’s honor.”

Dean’s shoulders relaxed, and he smiled a little at Cas. “I have serious doubts that you were ever a scout.”

Cas laughed. “Got me there. How about I promise that _I_ won’t start anything tonight? I'll keep my hands to myself unless you ask me not to.”

There was a beat where Dean appeared to be sizing him up, and then he said, “Yeah, sure. Why not? I kinda wanna see where you live anyway.”

Shit. Cas’s mind instantly flashed to the dirty clothes all over his living room, unwashed dishes in the sink, and the weird smell his bedroom had taken on that probably had to do with the takeout containers he hadn’t thrown out yet. Yeah… he really needed to clean before Friday, and also buy groceries that weren’t just frozen pizza and tv dinners.

“Don’t expect much,” he warned Dean. “Where I live’s not exactly high class.”

The way Dean smiled at him then, green eyes bright, filtered in to fill up his body like a slow spreading warmth. “I’d be more uncomfortable if it was. We’re not exactly rich either, Cas.”

That fond look on Dean’s face was much too tempting. So Cas leaned in and kissed him. Just a slow, gentle press of their mouths together, a slight cling of their lips as he pulled away. The mildly dazed expression Dean wore when his eyelashes eventually fluttered open was just as appealing, it turned out.

So Cas did it again. This time he sucked Dean's bottom lip gently into his mouth, slowly allowing his teeth to graze the swell of Dean’s lip as he sat back. Fingers curling in the back of Cas's hair, Dean chased him after him, tongue tracing Cas’s lips before he pushed it past them, into his mouth.

Quietly, Cas sighed out his pleasure. It was just so easy to fall into Dean—to let himself enjoy the soft give of his lips, and how Dean’s hands always found their way to tangle in his hair.

When they finally parted for good, Dean’s face was flushed, his lips dark enough that Cas had to reign in the arousal simmering in his gut.

“What was that for?” Dean asked, voice a little rough and a lot hot.

Cas shrugged one shoulder. “I just really like you sometimes.”

Dean’s eyes rolled, but he smiled. “Wow, nice to know you like me sometimes.”

Cas chuckled, because Charlie had said basically the same thing once. He grinned at Dean. “You’re all right.”

Dean’s gaze dropped to the side as he leaned back against the wall. “For what it’s worth, I really like you too.”

A pleased glow radiated in Cas’s chest. He tangled his fingers with Dean’s, trying to keep the smile on his face from looking too stupid. It was probably a spectacular failure, but Dean wasn’t looking anyway. His green eyes were focused on their intertwined hands.

Friday came along much too quickly, but Cas did his best. Charlie had brought over a vacuum cleaner and a mop. After which, she’d proceeded to sit on his couch with a bag of Doritos and ‘motivated’ him to work. Which basically meant that she’d played on the old nintendo system he’d rescued from a garage sale, occasionally pointing somewhere and saying, “Missed a spot.”

Eventually everything had been thoroughly scrubbed, his laundry done, folded and put away, and his apartment looked almost respectable. When Meg dropped by to pick Charlie up, she’d been shocked. Her exact words had been, “Holy shit, Clarence. I guess you’re really into Dean, ‘cause I didn’t even know your kitchen floor was white.”

An hour later and Cas had no idea what’d possessed him to imply that he could cook. The hamburger he’d tried to fry for spaghetti was a black charcoal brick that smoke was pouring off of. The spaghetti itself was glued together in one massive sticky lump, and Cas stood there for a moment and frowned at it all in dismay.

Before he even had time to try and clean it up, there was a knock at his door. Dean’s concerned voice floated through the wood, “Hey, Cas, you okay in there?”

Of course. Of course, Dean had to show up when there was smoke everywhere, and Cas was haplessly standing around staring at the disaster and breathing in noxious air while his eyes watered at the sting of it.

“I—yes,” he replied loud enough for Dean to hear through the door, abandoning the kitchen in order to let Dean in.

He opened the door and tried not to grimace at the hazy air that wafted out around him. He’d just started to wonder why his fire alarm hadn’t gone off, when a loud screeching started up behind him. His shoulders tensed and he winced. Dean, though, didn’t bat an eye. He just smirked and shook his head gently at Cas, then brushed by him.

Silently, Cas closed the door. He followed Dean toward the kitchen, heat prickling at the back of his neck and creeping into his cheeks. “I might have burned dinner,” he confessed morosely.

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean replied, voice fond as he took in the chaos, “I can see that. We gotta open some windows.”

Right. Windows. Cas went and pushed up the big window in his living room that led to the fire escape, which inspired him to go grab the still smoking pan, and set it out there to cool down.

In the meantime, Dean’d apparently discovered where he kept his towels and was waving one underneath the fire alarm. It took a minute, but the screeching stopped.

The silence in the aftermath was almost deafening. His cheeks were still flaming, and he couldn’t bring himself to look over at Dean. Defensively, he held onto his left bicep with his right hand and made himself talk in spite of the uncomfortable twisting in his stomach, “I probably should've warned you that I'm really only good at making sandwiches and frozen dinners before I offered to feed you.”

Approaching footsteps caught his attention, and he looked up into Dean's face just as Dean's fingers touched his arm—his expression was soft, and his voice wry, “Guess it's a good thing I like sandwiches, then.”

Recklessly, Cas’s heart skipped, then sped up. A pleased glow that started off in his chest suffused his body. He didn’t understand how such a simple thing could evoke such an intense reaction in him, but it did. After he cleared his throat, he managed to get the smile on his face under some control.

“Why don't you go sit in the living room while I get us something to eat?” Cas offered.

“Sure you don’t need some help?” Dean teased, eyes bright.

“I’m sure I can handle pb&j sandwiches Dean. I do feed myself on occasion,” he replied, more amused than offended.

Somehow, his embarrassment over the disaster that was spaghetti seemed to have faded with Dean’s good naturedness. He felt a little foolish, though, as he glanced over at the pot of gluey pasta he’d need to clean later. For now, he forced his gaze away from the mess, and did his best to ignore the lingering smell of burnt meat.

The necessary supplies for his second attempt at feeding Dean were fairly simple, and since it was also fairly likely that a blindfolded monkey could probably make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, he ought to do fine.

Two plates, a knife, bread, peanut butter and grape jelly—he spared a brief hope that Dean liked grape jelly because it was the only kind he had—he quickly assembled the sandwiches, put everything away and headed back into the living room with a plate in each hand, and a can of Coke under each arm.

“Crap.” Dean stood up and took one of the plates and cans. “I could’ve at least helped bring this stuff out.”

“Dean, it’s fine,” he huffed as he motioned for him to sit, following suit right after.

Once they'd both settled, they dug in. Between bites, and sips of pop they talked a little about their day. Dean told Cas a story about how his brother was going to make them all watch Lord of the Rings again tomorrow night because it was his turn to choose for family movie night and he _always_ chose that. Partly, Dean figured Sam was just trying to annoy him at this point.

It sounded fun to Cas, getting together with your family and spending an evening watching movies. At the same time it was a totally foreign idea to him, but it seemed like fun.

They'd just set their empty plates down on the coffee table and relaxed back into the couch when Cas glanced up at Dean. He had this soft, affectionate look on his face that made Cas's heart hastily stumble over itself. Dean's hand cupped his cheek, there was soft skin and the unhurried slide of Dean's thumb over the swell of Cas's bottom lip a second before his mouth followed. An easy press that hitched Cas’s breathing—just a slow brushing of sensitive lips together. Dean pulled back, and scrutinized Cas's eyes for a moment, then dove in again more forcefully.

Normally, Cas would’ve been itching to control the pace, to deepen it and turn it sharper, but he was trying to behave. He wanted to let Dean decide what he wanted. Slick and probing, Dean’s tongue slid along Cas's bottom lip before it slipped inside, familiar, hot. He tasted like peanut butter and jelly, and Cas let his hands drifted to Dean’s arm and the side of his neck, but he kept his touch light, just enjoying the way Dean kissed him like he was exploring.

“Dean—” he tried to ask if Dean wanted to stop or slow down, but Dean cut him off with a hot swirl of his tongue around Cas's.

Everything gradually heated up, only intensifying as Dean's crawled into his lap, placing a knee on either side of Cas's hips, and his ass firm against the hard ridge of Cas’s denim-trapped cock. Dean pushed forward and rubbed his own hard cock against Cas’s abdomen—possessive heat flared up in Cas’s gut at the feel of it, a primal, carnal response to the evidence of Dean’s arousal.

“Cas,” Dean gasped, high, needy, as he dropped his forehead to rest on Cas’s shoulder, his hips still frantically pushing against Cas. One word, just his name, but it sounded so wrecked already and Cas shivered.

“Dean,” he sighed right back. He was too worked up, they were wearing too many clothes—maybe this was even hotter because of them. He tried to remember if he’d ever just made out with someone like this, but Dean stole his thoughts when he ground down on his dick.

Dean’s breaths were shaky, his body trembling, so Cas guided him to lie down on the couch, wanted to take care of him. He fit himself between Dean’s parted legs and slowed them down, languid kisses and a slow grind that felt so, so, good.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered, leaving little kisses along Dean’s jaw, from his chin up the hinge of it. Cas sucked and bit there, reveling in the sweet little gasps that he drew from Dean.

Beneath his tongue and lips, Dean’s skin was hot, salty. Instantly addictive, he wanted more, but he held back. For now, this was enough, this was good.

“This,” Dean said softly, pushing up against him, his hard cock rubbing along the cut of Cas's hips. Dean chased friction like he was dying for it. “You.”

His fingers grasped at the back of Cas’s t-shirt, the blunt edges of his nails scratching clear through the flimsy material of it. Sexy, and sweet, Dean was perfect.

“Yours,” Cas breathed hot against his skin. He slid his palm up Dean’s side, hooking under his shoulder as he kissed along Dean's neck. Just under his ear, Cas sucked a mark. He wanted everyone to see just who Dean belonged with. Dean easily tilted his head, giving him better access and letting out a heated moan that sparked like fire along Cas’s skin.

For a while it was so right, and hot. Cas almost lost himself in the feel of Dean against him, then Dean started to tense up, going rigid beneath him. It took Cas less than a second to figure out that Dean was still afraid of what’d happened the last time he'd orgasmed with him. His heart lurched, and he surged up to kiss Dean, slow, an urgent glide of his tongue around Dean’s—reassurance in every movement he made.

“It's okay, baby,” Cas breathed right into Dean's mouth, feeling him shudder beneath him. He bit back a groan as Dean’s hips jerked up into his. “You're not gonna hurt me this time. I promise.”

Dean’s eyes fluttered open, green and caramel and dark, dark pupil, wild with heat. “You can't... ah,  you don't _know_ that.”

Soothingly, Cas pressed another soft kiss to Dean's lips, “I do,” he promised, honesty in every word, warmth laced through them. “You know it was me, too.” He dragged his lips along Dean’s cheekbone, and whispered hotly in his ear, “I can feel you, Dean. Trust me.”

High, breathy, urgent, _“Cas…”_

Dean's body relaxed, and fuck if that didn’t send shocks of pleasure through Cas—if he couldn’t practically feel some barrier between them dropping. His senses sharpened, heat at the base of his spine pulling in tight.

Cas was so close that it hurt. There was this wave of unity sinking so deeply inside of him that it felt permanent, as if he was changed—or they were—it was incredible and profound, overwhelming, exhilarating. He somehow held himself together for Dean.

“Just let go for me. Trust me, Dean. Not gonna hurt anyone.” Cas bit a kiss into the curve of Dean's neck, just above his collar, and Dean arched under him with a guttural moan of his name that Cas felt all the way to his toes.

Wetness seeped into the front of Cas's pants and he groaned, sucking on Dean's skin hard as euphoria stole his breath, waves of heat shattering outward as he came in violent spurts that dampened his underwear.

“Cas,” Dean grunted, his hand in Cas's hair tugging him away. He unlatched his mouth from Dean’s skin and bit his lip at the purple hickey he’d left—a spike of arousal making him ache all over again.

He let Dean guide him into a lazy, satisfied kiss, pressing heavy down over Dean. Cas’s whole body was buzzing, glowing, and he ran an easy hand through Dean’s hair. Loving the warmth of Dean underneath him, Cas smiled, and from the way Dean’s fingers kept skimming over his back and along his arms, he liked it just as much.

When his pants finally started to feel uncomfortable, Cas lifted up a little and grinned down at Dean. Smugly he announced, “See, told you. Just like I said, you didn't hurt me.”

Theatrically, Dean rolled his eyes, but he smiled and pressed their lips together.  Then he let his head drop back onto the cushion. His gaze lingered on Cas’s face though—this cautious optimism etched in green, and Cas really wanted to erase the caution in there.

He wanted to convince Dean that he was fine, that they were good. Nothing would do that but time, unfortunately, so Cas kissed Dean's forehead sweetly. “Why don't you take first dibs on the shower, and I'll find you a change of pants?” he offered.

Dean’s smile was bright, “Really? You don't mind?”

Another glow of warmth filled Cas’s chest. “I don't mind at all.”

He left Dean on the couch with one last playful kiss, and then went to his room where he grabbed Dean some underwear and a pair of grey sweatpants from the freshly laundered basket of his clothes. They’d probably be just a little big on Dean, but they’d do.

Once he showed Dean where the shower was, he gathered up a change of clothes for himself, and set up his laptop on the coffee table. He put popcorn in the microwave and waited for his turn in the shower.

What he wasn’t entirely prepared for, however, was just how sexy Dean would look when he came out, skin turned pink from the heat, brown hair damp. He was wearing Cas's pants along with his own black tee and green flannel shirt—but those were Cas’s sweatpants and underneath them, his underwear. Some animalistic part of Cas growled _mine,_ as he watched a shy smile spread across Dean’s face.

“I… uh, didn’t wanna leave these on the floor, so—” Cas focused enough to notice that Dean was holding his dirty clothes. He willed the sudden rush of his blood south away… not that it helped much, and didn’t that just make his pants extra uncomfortable. Gross.

“I’ll take them,” he volunteered, and Dean raised a brow, smirk on his lips that Cas rolled his eyes at. “I’ll throw them in the laundry with mine after I shower so that you don’t have to walk of shame home.”

Dean’s cheeks flushed darker, and now Cas was the one who smirked.

“Um. Thanks.”

Cas got through his shower as quickly as he could, and dressed in a pair of blue plaid pajama pants and a dark grey Henley. He gathered the clothes up from the floor, and let Dean know he’d be right back.

After he shoved his feet into his boots, he grabbed a handful of quarters, and a jug of laundry soap from the small table near his door, then made his way down to the laundry room. He didn’t waste time—not with Dean upstairs warm and waiting for him. The first machine he came across got stuffed full of their clothes, and he started it.

On the way back up, he had to tell himself not to run, because that would be supremely pathetic. He kept it to a brisk jog as a compromise, and it was still a struggle not to speed up.

Back in his living room, boots kicked off again, he found Dean curled up in the corner of the couch, a small smile on his face and his phone in his hand.

“I thought if you wanted, you could pick a movie. I’ll grab the popcorn,” Cas said as he walked in.

Dean’s smile grew when he looked up and saw him. Cas’s stomach did a little flip.

“Sounds good, Cas. I just let Mom know I was gonna stay late. She said to let her know when I’m leaving, but it’s cool.”

There wasn’t a lot that Cas knew about good parents, but Dean’s mom seemed like one. He hoped he’d get to meet her sometime, even if the thought made nervousness twist in his gut. “Hmm. Tell her I said I’ll even walk you to your car, just to be extra safe.”

A laugh bubbled up in his chest at Dean’s narrowed eyes. “A, I’m not sending that. B, I’m pretty sure I can easily defend myself on the short walk to my car. C, shut your face.”

Cas just laughed harder, and after a second, Dean chuckled too. They settled in all cuddled up on the couch as they watched a comedy special on Netflix, and Cas couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed this much. Or the last time he’d been so relaxed with someone who wasn’t Charlie.

He kept stealing glances at Dean, at the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, the way he threw his head back, and if it was particularly funny, he’d double over with it. This enchanted, tender feeling spread through his chest, and, God, he was falling hard and fast for Dean. For this boy who made him feel things he never had before—who made him want things he’d never even considered wanting.

At the driver’s side door of Dean’s car later that night, Dean heaved an irritated sigh, but the blush staining his cheeks when Cas kissed him goodnight, the dazzled warmth in his eyes as Cas pulled away—worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what'd you think?


	11. Chapter 11

* * *

Things with Cas had been going really well for the last couple weeks. So well that Dean was considering something he never thought he'd ever get to do.

He found his mom in the kitchen pouring herself a glass of Coke Zero, and she glanced over when she heard him walk in.

“Hey, kiddo, what's shaking?” she asked with a little smile.

“Um, I was hoping,” he took a deep breath and steeled himself for the inevitable excitement he was about to be met with, “that Cas, um, my soulmate, could come over for dinner. Maybe Sunday?” Dean drummed his fingers nervously on the counter, “Normally I'd put this off until the last possible second—”

Mom giggled, and he glanced up to find her covering her mouth with one hand. She shook her head, and he glared at her until she mumbled, “I'm good, go ahead.”

“But Cas doesn't really have a family like I do, and I… I want him to.” Dean's cheeks heated, and his stomach squirmed, but Mom didn't laugh again, she just smiled softly at him.

Rubbing his arm she said, “Honey, of course he can come over.”

Bright and happy, Dean grinned at her. “Great. Thanks!”

That day at school when he was sitting down with Cas for lunch Dean chewed on his lip, watching Cas pick at a bag of chips. A wriggle of nervousness started up in his belly, but he finally found his words.

“Hey, um… you don't have to or anything, but I thought maybe you might wanna come to dinner at my house on Sunday,” Dean paused to catch his breath and gauge Cas's reaction. His blue eyes were wide with surprise and he looked even more nervous than Dean felt. “I just thought… it would be good if you met my family, y’know?”

Pink flared up on Cas's cheeks, and he ducked his chin a little. “Sure. I can do that.”

A feeling that was equal parts excitement and anxiety bubbled up in Dean's chest. He pushed it down and smiled at Cas. It'd be worth the smug looks from his parents, and Sam's teasing for Cas to spend time with them.

Dean knew enough about Cas's history; how his parents died and his uncle was a dick. And he really wanted to give Cas pretty much the only thing he had to offer—a family who’d love him unconditionally. ’Cause Dean might not’ve had a lot going for him, but that he had in spades.

Sunday afternoon he took a quick shower and changed into a nice pair of jeans, a black t-shirt, and a forest green button up that his mom always said brought out his eyes. He ignored it when Sam made a crack about him dressing up while he slipped out of the house to go pick Cas up.

It was early spring, and the air was still a little chilly, but Dean liked it. The drive to Cas's went by pretty quickly, and Dean texted him right after he pulled up in front of his building to let Cas know he was there.

The guy who walked out the front door of Cas's apartment was barely recognizable—his leather coat had been replaced by a respectable trenchcoat, and he had on a pair pair of black slacks, a white button up, and a blue tie that’d been hastily knotted. His hair was combed neatly, and as he got closer to the car, Dean noticed that his lip ring was missing, and so was his bridge piercing.

His heart kind of stumbled and dropped down to his toes when Cas climbed in next to him and shot him a weak smile.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas.” Dean smiled gently at him. “What’s with the sanitized boy next door look?”

Cas’s cheeks flushed a little. “I wanted to make a good impression.”

“They're gonna like you the way you are,” he told Cas, voice warm. “Just like I do.” Heat prickled at the back of his neck, but Cas needed to know this. “Don't change for other people, ’cause you're awesome already.”

There was a moment where Cas stared into his eyes and looked like he wanted to say something, but in the end, he just nodded a little and buckled up his seatbelt.

As Dean was pulling out into traffic Cas softly said, “I like you the way you are too.”

Warmth swelled in Dean's chest and he glanced over at Cas with a grin before he focused on driving again. A few minutes later Led Zeppelin’s In The Light came on, and Dean faintly heard Cas singing along. A little smile twitched up his lips, but he didn't say a thing.

Shortly after the song finished, they pulled into Dean's driveway and parked beside his mom’s burgundy SUV. He looked over at Cas and offered him a reassuring smile. “You ready?”

Clearly anxious, Cas smiled tensely back at him. “Not even a little bit.”

“Promise they won't bite,” he said, thumbing the steering wheel absently.

Cas smirked. “Not particularly what I was worried about, but that’s reassuring to know, I suppose.”

Instead of waiting and letting either of their nerves get worse, Dean just squeezed Cas's shoulder and said, “C'mon, let's go do this.”

Inhaling sharply, Cas then breathed out slowly before he nodded and opened his door. “I got this,” Dean heard him mumble quietly to himself.

Dean climbed out of his side and walked around the car to where Cas stood. “Yeah, you do.”

He closed the space between them and pressed a quick kiss to Cas's soft lips, gently applied pressure and tried to express the tenderness that was growing in his chest.

Pulling away, he watched Cas's eyes flutter open from up close, blue and hazy in the fading sunlight. Cas looked a little more relaxed, even if he was blushing a bit. At least Dean wasn't the only one who seemed to have that reaction.

He threaded his fingers between Cas's and led him inside. They found everyone in the kitchen at the table after Dean hung up their jackets.

He held Cas's hand as he made introductions, “Dad, Mom, Sam, this is Cas. Cas, this is my dad, John, my mom, Mary, and that squirt’s Sammy.”

At first, Cas stumbled over his words a little, kind of shy, but Dean's family took to him just like he knew they would. Sam asked Cas about his art, which sparked a discussion on tattoos. Dad showed off a couple he'd gotten during his service, and Mom, the one she'd gotten on her first spring break during college.

“I always wanted to get it touched up,” she admitted, a rueful grin on her lips, “but I’ve never decided if I want to cover it up, or just fix it, so it stays the same but looks better.”

“Can I see yours, Cas?” Sam asked, eyes flashing with excitement.

“Oh, sure. Of course,” Cas replied with a smile. He undid the cuffs of his white button up and rolled up the sleeves, showing them first the treeline on his right wrist, and the the one on the inside of his right forearm—a bold solid black triangle with a heavy black line through the middle set over a pair of wings.

Dean tried not to salivate over Cas's arms and ink in front of his family. They were gorgeous though. Good thing everyone was paying attention to Cas and not him.

“Do you have more?” Sam asked curiously, hazel eyes intent on Cas's face.

“Some, but I like to keep my shirt on the first time I meet new people,” Cas said with a smirk, and everyone laughed.

Secretly, Dean was relieved that Cas had long sleeves on, so they didn't have to explain the handprint. Though, now he was suddenly curious about what other tattoos Cas had that he hadn't seen. He must've zoned out a little because Sam's fingers were suddenly snapping in front of his face.

“Stop thinking so hard about Cas's tattoos,” Sam teased, and heat crawled up Dean's neck and into his cheeks.

He glared at Sam. “Whatever, dork.”

“So, Cas,” Mom interrupted, “Dean says you're working at a tattoo parlor?”

Cas smiled bashfully. “Working is a glorified term. Right now it's closer to volunteering until I graduate. Then I'll be apprenticing with one of the artists,” he explained.

“So, eventually you plan to be a tattoo artist?” Dad asked, eyes thoughtful.

Cas nodded. “That's my plan. Possibly to own my own shop someday.”

“Ooo. So you'll be able to touch these up for us,” Mom gestured vaguely at their tattoos.

“Eventually,” Cas replied with a small but genuine smile, warming Dean's chest.

After they'd eaten dessert, at the door before Dean took him home, Mom hugged Cas, “You're welcome to come back any time, sweetheart,” she told him with a soft smile.

There was a shy one on Cas's lips in return. “Thank you for having me over.”

It was all kinds of adorable, but Dean was ready to have Cas to himself again. “Better get you home,” he said, tugging on Cas's hand.

The drive back to Cas's was subdued and they parked out in front of Cas's building again, a familiar tension in the air between them. Cas's dark blue eyes were warm in the streetlight shining through the windshield when Dean killed the engine and looked over at him.

He seemed honestly happy, and that made Dean's chest swell with this terrifying, amazing, huge feeling. In a lightning flash of clarity he thought,  _ I'm so damn in love with him. _ Cas smiled wider at him almost like he could tell what Dean was feeling, and the heat in Dean's chest spread all through him.

“Thank you. I've never—it was nice to—just, thank you,” Cas's voice was a little choked up, and Dean slid himself across the bench seat toward him.

“Any time, Cas.” He cupped Cas's cheek in one of his palms and watched his eyes drift shut as he leaned in close.

Words Dean wasn’t quite ready to say yet were pressed from his lips to Cas’s in soft slides of skin. Just like it did every time he kissed Cas, Dean’s heart rate picked up. Cas melted into him, a hand on the back of Dean's head, and one pressed over his heart as he parted his lips and let Dean in.

Unhurried and full of the emotions that were rushing through him, Dean let himself enjoy the way Cas felt all pressed up against him. The way Cas kissed him—slow like they had all the time in the world and nothing to do but this.

Dean sucked Cas’s full bottom lip into his mouth, dragging his teeth over the swell as he released, smirking at the soft groan it drew from Cas. A sense of pride bloomed in his gut, he was getting pretty good at this.

“Dean,” Cas panted as he pulled away just enough to rest their foreheads together, hot puffs of shared air on slick, sensitive, kiss-swollen lips. “I should… I should go. You’re so—” Dean opened his eyes at the pause in Cas’s voice, and found Cas watching him up close. “I  _ want _ you so much.”

Heated arousal spiked in Dean's gut, and he groaned as he kissed Cas again eagerly, more insistent. “Want you too.”

He slid his palm firmly up Cas’s thigh, from his knee in a straight line toward where he knew Cas’d be hard and hot beneath his palm. Just shy of his goal, Cas’s hand pressed down over his,  stalling him. Why’d Cas stop him? Dean pulled back to see, and hazy blue eyes full of desire stared back at him. “Cas?”

Shakily, Cas let out a breath and laced their fingers together, “I don’t… I want to do this right. Not in your car in front of my building. When we… I want it to be in a bed. With time to really get to know what you like.”

Dean’s hips involuntarily rolled up a bit, but fuck that was hot, and Cas’s eyes were locked on them. Control, he needed to find some goddamn control. That was something he had a lot of experience in… maybe not quite like this but the same principles probably applied.

Dean calmed himself with a few breaths, and then he said, “Okay. How ’bout Friday? I can come over after school, and then we’ll have lots of time.”

Dean’s shoulders tensed, and his cheeks flushed when he realized he was maybe pressuring Cas so he rushed to add, “If you want to, I mean. We… uh, we don’t have to do anything if you’re—”

“Dean,” Cas cut off his rambling, and Dean shut his mouth. “Friday’s perfect.”

A relieved breath rushed out of him, and he smiled at Cas. “Okay. Friday.”

Then Cas looked him over, eyes dark, as he reached for his door handle, “I better get going before I change my mind.”

Dean bit his lip, a shy smirk on his face, and Cas groaned. So Dean laughed happily, he couldn’t remember the last time he felt this relaxed around someone who wasn’t his parents or his brother. He didn’t need to keep his guards up or constantly police himself to keep his fire from surfacing with Cas. It was amazing, getting to be himself this way.

Cas smiled broadly back at him, and Dean knew they looked like a couple of Grade A dorks, but he didn’t care. “Goodnight, Cas.”

Rolling his eyes, Cas got out of the car. “’Night, Dean.”

On Friday morning, sitting down for breakfast with his family, Dean poured himself a bowl full of lucky charms and waited until everyone was settled in.

Around a mouthful of cereal Sam was talking about a new girl in his class, Rose or Ruby or something, Dean was only half-listening. After Sam finished talking, Dean cleared his throat.

“I’m… um, I’m not gonna be home after school tonight. Might be out late,” he said, glancing up at his parents for their reaction.

Everyone was staring at him with matching grins, and Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes at them.

Mom was the first to respond, “Spending some time at Cas’s?”

Dean ignored the teasing tone in her voice, stirring his spoon through the milk and cereal in his bowl. “Yeah. We’re gonna hang out.”

“Hang out.” Sam snickered. “Sure, Dean.”

Dean's cheeks went hot and his eyes narrowed at Sam, but he didn't get a chance to chew him out over it.

“Sam,” Dad warned, and Dean smirked at him, gloating.

“Okay, sweetheart.” Mom had a smirk of her own, and Dean cringed internally. “Be safe. No glo—”

Eyes squeezing shut, Dean plugged his ears and yelled, “Not listening!”

Everyone cracked up and Dean opened his eyes, flashing them a dirty look before he dug into his breakfast. Thankfully they let the subject drop, so Dean could recover from his embarrassment in peace. 

At lunchtime, Dean tried to act like he normally would; he pretended that the slight nervousness in his stomach didn’t exist. Cas did a good job distracting him with idle chatter about his boss’s antics the night before.

They were sitting alone in the hallway they usually hid out in together, when Mrs. Moseley, the school’s guidance counselor, came rushing around the corner and headed right for them, her long dark grey skirt swishing with every hurried step.

Well before she even got within speaking range, Dean could tell something was wrong. Her face was drawn with concern, and she glanced over her shoulder like she was worried she’d been followed.

Anxiety flooded Dean’s senses—everyone knew that Mrs. Moseley was intuitive. She was a water elemental and they usually were, but with her it seemed to run even deeper than that. His throat constricted and his breaths came too fast. Cas’s hand squeezed just above his knee and pulled him out of his spiral of negative emotion and fear.

“Dean Winchester,” she said breathlessly as she came to a stop in front of them, and Dean shot up to his feet.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m sorry to scare you like this, sugar, but you’re in some real trouble,” she told him softly, expression worried. “Something big and bad’s coming for you.”

Cas’s hand on his shoulder kept him steady, but Dean’s stomach cramped up. “What… uh, what d’you mean?” he asked.

Eyes distant, she shook her head softly, “I can’t tell you exactly what.” She shrugged a shoulder, looking sorry about it. “Just that I had a vision. It's not always rational or linear; what I see. Bits and pieces this time. People are coming for you because you’re the key, and when they get ahold of you,” her eyes widened with terror, “death and destruction like you can’t imagine will follow.”

Cold hollowness spread in Dean’s chest, an icy fog he could hardly focus through. This was like something out of a nightmare, out of a book. Of course his life was destined for something like this. Hadn’t he always thought there was something wrong with him? That he would hurt people?

Here was proof of it in front of him, straight from Mrs. Moseley’s lips.

“What can you tell us about who it is? Why they’re after Dean?” Cas asked, voice rational, hand still clasped tightly on Dean’s shoulder.

She shook her head again. “I can’t see that. All I can tell you is that the net is closing around Dean. He’s the key,” she repeated.

The key to what?

Dean’s heart hammered out a frantic beat. He oughta be asking questions, demanding answers but he was frozen. He didn't have a damn clue what his next step was, other than to run.

Cas asked her something else, and Dean didn’t hear the specifics, his mind was too busy spinning uselessly. Who was he up against? What did they want from him?

It didn’t make any sense—he was just a teenager with messed up powers. What exactly was he supposed to be the key to? What did that even  _ mean? _

Mrs. Moseley’s voice broke Dean out of his trance. He glanced back up and found her looking Cas dead in the eyes as she gravely told him, “You take care of that boy, you hear?”

Like he was making some kind of blood oath, completely seriously, Cas answered, “I'll keep Dean safe, no matter what.”

Chills raced down Dean's spine at the foreboding in those words. His first instinct was to tell Cas no, that he wasn’t dragging him into this, but Mrs. Moseley smiled, “Good. He needs you to get through what’s coming. Now, you should both go.”

Numbly, Dean listened as Cas thanked her, and then dragged him outside. He wasn’t really sure what was happening, but Cas's hand was warm in his and that was enough to keep his emotions from spinning out of control. Of course, that also could’ve been partly due to the shock.

The next thing Dean knew, Cas had herded him into his car, the familiar scent of leather and motor oil soothing him enough to focus on Cas.

“We should go grab some of your things from your house, then some of mine and figure out where to go next,” Cas suggested.

Dean nodded, one hand on the wheel, he took the keys Cas must've gotten from his pocket back and cranked them in the ignition. “Yeah… we should… yeah.”

Just as he reached for the gearshift, his phone rang. He shared a concerned look with Cas, as he pulled it out of his pocket. Dr. Lafitte’s name lit up the screen, and Dean blinked for a second, then answered it.

“Dr. Lafitte?” Dean asked, worried.

His voice was rough as he replied, “Dean, you have no idea how relieved I am that you answered.”

“What’s going on?”

“There were people here earlier looking for information on you. Wouldn’t tell them anything of course… and they… well, they didn’t take real kind to that,” he let out a mirthless chuckle. “Got a concussion to show for it, and they ransacked my office while I was knocked out. They got your file from my drawer, Dean. Your address, your phone number—whoever it was, they’ve got them. I contacted the police as soon as I woke up, but I’m worried that you’re in danger. If there’s somewhere safe you can go, somewhere that we didn’t talk about, you should go there and wait until the police find these people.”

Dean nodded, then remembered Dr. Lafitte couldn’t see him. “Yeah, I… I’ll find somewhere. I’m sorry you got hurt ’cause of me.”

“Hey,” Dr. Lafitte’s voice was warm, “this wasn’t your fault, Dean. You still gotta learn that you can’t control everything, and you’re not responsible for things out of your control. Let’s work on that when this is all over, okay?”

Dean’s lips tugged up a little despite the circumstances. “Yeah, okay.”

“Good. Be careful.”

As soon as Dean hung up the phone, any temporary relief he’d felt at Dr. Lafitte’s parting words evaporated.

The second Dean had hung up the phone, Cas watched his shock wear off and panic set in. He ran a soothing hand over Dean's back while Dean hunched over the steering wheel and hyperventilated. Beads of sweat were popping up along his hairline, and shivers wracked his body.

“Breathe, Dean, just breathe. We can figure this out, okay? We can handle this,” Cas said softly—whatever words he could think of that might help, and weirdly, it worked. Dean’s breathing slowed, and he seemed to be regaining his awareness. Dean was responding so well to him that Cas thought maybe it was a soulmate thing.

With one last shaky breath, Dean straightened up. “I’m… um, I’m okay.”

Cas evaluated him; he still looked jittery, though not on the verge of breaking down again. That would have to do for now. Things were dire enough that they definitely shouldn't spend any more time than necessary idling out here in the parking lot.

“Good. We should get going,” Cas replied, scanning around the car, on high alert for any sort of threat.

Dean put the car in reverse and backed out of his spot, phone tossed on the seat in between them. “Where do we go? Dr. Lafitte, my psychologist, he said they came to his office. They’ve got my file, my address. And… we talked about you, so you're in there too.”

Cas contemplated their options as Dean pulled out of the school’s driveway. “We drive. As long and as far as we can and then we find a place to stay for the night. We figure the rest out once we’re safe.”

Dean’s eyes flashed over to him, then back to the the road. “What about my family? They’re in danger, too. If they came after Dr. Lafitte, whoever this is might go after them.”

From the seat beside him, Cas grabbed Dean’s phone. “I’ll text your parents. Tell them they’re in danger and to call Dr. Lafitte. He can give them more information,” he texted as he spoke. “Then we should turn your phone off. If they’ve got your number, it’s possible they could trace it, right? Or is that just something they do on TV?”

Dean chewed on his thumbnail as he steered with one hand. “I dunno. At least wait and see if they get the text.”

Seconds later the phone dinged three times in quick succession, Dean’s dad, his mom, and Sam. “Your dad says he’s going to pick up Sam. Your mom’s meeting him there. Sam’s worried.” Cas tapped out a quick reply to each of them. “I told them to be careful and we’ll call them as soon as we can. That we’re turning the phone off.”

“Okay,” Dean mumbled, then, “Fuck! What the hell?” He rubbed a hand over his eyes before clutching tightly at the steering wheel again. “Why would anyone want me for anything? I’m  _ no one.  _ I’m just a freaking fire elemental with goddamn control issues. Who the hell would possibly be after me?”

“I don’t know,” Cas answered honestly. And it was true, he didn’t know who exactly. But he did know that something was off with the whole situation.

He'd been with fire elementals before and Dean’s energy didn't really feel like theirs. Well, it sort of did—like an undercurrent of flavor, but there was something more there that Cas couldn't identify too. Maybe that something might’ve been why. He didn't want to risk freaking Dean out even more, though. So he kept his concern to himself.

By the time they finally started looking for a place to stop for the night, it was dark out. They'd had to stop for gas once, and Cas had paid with his debit card.

After they'd considered the possibility that it could also be tracked, so they’d put as many more miles as they could between them and the station. Dean looked exhausted when they pulled into the back parking lot of a crappy little no-tell motel.

“Wait here,” Cas told him. “I'll get us a room.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, leaning back in the seat and eyeing Cas inquisitively. “You have cash or something?”

“Or something,” he mumbled as he got out of the car.   

Inside the motel’s office, Cas took a deep breath. He'd never really wanted or needed to use his power this way, but one of the things an incubus was capable of was compulsion—a darker aspect of their nature. One of the few reasons why they were classified as dark fae even if most of them never used their power in such a way. He wasn't looking forward to using it now on the clerk, but what other choice did they have?

It probably ought to frighten him; the lengths he was willing to go to in order to ensure Dean's safety, but Cas found it difficult to care. Somewhere along the line Dean had become the most important person in the world to him. Besides he wasn't about to take Mrs. Moseley's warning lightly.

Death and destruction, she'd said, and who knew what they'd do to Dean for him to cooperate. No, one small sacrifice of his morals to keep Dean and others from harm was worth it. He walked up to the counter and smiled at the young woman behind the desk.

“Now, you don't look old enough to be—” she cut off abruptly when she looked directly into his eyes.

He focused his energy on her as he spoke, voice silky sweet, “I need a room for the next three nights. There can't be a paper trail. I don't have any cash, so you'll need to come up with a reason to let me have it for free.”

She looked dazed as she smiled hazily at him, “Of course we'll comp your room. I'll think of something to put in the computer.”

“Great. Thank you,” he glanced down at her nametag, “Amanda.”

“No problem.” She offered him a bright grin, blue eyes glossy. “Let me get you set up. It should just be a minute.”

Not long after that, she handed him a key and gave him their room number. He thanked her again, and as a last minute thought, asked her not to tell anyone she'd seen him. She nodded and watched him go, a faint smile still on her lips.

Once he was outside he breathed a sigh of relief and hoped he'd never have to do that to someone again. Guilt tangled his stomach in a knot that only loosened slightly when he saw Dean waiting inside the car, a lost look on his face as he stared out the windshield like he wasn't seeing anything.

It struck him, even in the washed out lighting of the parking lot’s harsh streetlight; how attractive Dean was. This was probably an inappropriate time to be thinking it, but he did all the same. Eyes following the lines of Dean's profile.

As he approached, Dean seemed to notice him, his eyes flicking over to Cas, and then he climbed out of the Impala. He locked the doors just as Cas stopped in front of him.

“Room 9,” Cas said, muffling a yawn.

Dean nodded tiredly, and Cas reached for his hand. They walked side-by-side to the front of the building and found their room. Cas unlocked the door, and ushered Dean in, then locked it behind them.

The interior was wallpapered with faded beige flower print, and ugly brownish curtains hung in the sole window. The main area was fairly small, with a double bed and tiny nightstands on either side of it, just enough clearance between the end of the bed and a chest of drawers to walk past. There was probably barely enough space to even open the drawers halfway, not that they had anything to put in them anyway.

Exhaustion hit Cas the second he wasn't moving anymore, and he eyed the bed. Mostly he wanted to crawl under the white blankets and pass out, but he felt gross after a day at school followed up with several hours of driving.

Dean let out a guttural groan and flopped face first onto the bed, sighing as he got.comfortable. Fondly, Cas smiled down at him. “I was thinking about a shower. Do you want to go first?”

“Nah,” Dean mumbled into the pillow. “I gotta just lay here for a bit. You go ahead.”

“I won’t take long,” Cas promised as he toed off his shoes and left them by the bed.

The bathroom was dingy but clean enough. Thankfully there was complimentary soap, shampoo, and mouthwash. After he’d closed the door and started the water, Cas realized that they had no clean clothes to change into and no toothbrushes.

He sighed, stripping out of his clothes. Perfunctorily, he showered, got out, and dried off with a scratchy white towel. Once he’d wrapped the towel around his waist, he looked down at his dirty clothes and grimaced. Now that he was clean, the last thing he wanted to do was put dirty underwear back on.

He’d need to wear them tomorrow anyway. Most people would probably just put them back on, he tried to reason with himself. He was being irrational. Only the memories of two days spent in dirty clothes locked in a closet crowded into the tiny bathroom and pressed in on him. His skin was suddenly too tight, and his stomach hurt.

Forcibly, he pushed his thoughts back to the present and grabbed the bar of soap from the shower. Under hot water flowing out of the sink’s faucet, he scrubbed his boxer-briefs. He wrung them out the best that he could, and hung them up on the towel rack.

For a second after he scooped the rest of his clothes up, he hesitated, one hand on the handle, then he turned the knob and pushed the door open. “Your turn,” he said as he crossed the distance between the doorway to the foot of the bed. He skirted around to the opposite side that Dean was still laying facedown on.

Unhappily Dean groaned, and rolled over onto his back. He blinked up at the ceiling for a few moments before he sat up. Cas felt his cheeks heat as Dean’s gaze travelled slowly up the expanse of his torso taking in the thick black and grey chain link tattoo that wove around his hips, and snaked up his chest where it was shattered just over his heart.

Dean's gaze paused there a moment, and then finally settled on his face. Arousal was a low thrum in the air, difficult to ignore. Luckily, Cas was beyond ready for sleep.

He dropped his clothes in a heap on the floor, and said, “I know it’s probably weird, but I wanted to have clean underwear in the morning, so I washed mine and hung them up to dry. I can put my jeans back on if you’d prefer. Or I could sleep above the sheet.”

Dean’s cheeks were red, but he adamantly shook his head. “It’s fine, Cas. Um… I’ll just go—” he nodded toward the bathroom. It was impossible to miss the slight bulge in the front of Dean’s jeans, but Cas didn’t let his eyes linger.

He glanced back up to Dean’s eyes, and he got caught there, watching as green was slowly swallowed up by black pupil. Dean’s throat bobbed and Cas wanted to press his mouth there, suck a mark into the skin there. He made himself smile instead. “Go ahead. I’ll get settled while you’re gone.”

Absently, Dean nodded, and then he turned around and walked into the bathroom, leaving the sweet scent of his arousal behind him—and once the door closed, Cas let out a quiet groan. He draped his towel over the nightstand and crawled beneath the quilts, willing away his erection: another handy incubus trick.

Settling on his back, Cas threw his arm over his eyes and thought about what he’d draw if he’d remembered to bring his backpack in from the car. That path only led to thoughts about drawing Dean, which naturally led to places he was trying  _ not  _ to go right now.

The sound of the bathroom door opening ten minutes later startled him, and he peered out from under his arm.

Dean came to a stop next to the bed, blushing furiously as he fidgeted with the edge of his towel. His hair was wet, droplets of water still clinging to his warm flushed skin, his white teeth biting at his pink bottom lip—he looked gorgeous. Cas’s cock perked up and took interest, but Dean seemed like he was ready to fall asleep on his feet. Cas ignored the heat that churned in his gut, and smiled softly at him.

“We’re just gonna sleep. I'll even close my eyes if you want. Promise no peeking,” he said quietly. “And you can shut off the light too.”

Dean seemed to latch onto that. “Okay,” he mumbled quickly.

Dutifully, Cas closed his eyes. There was the click of the lamp, some rustling and then the quiet sound of Dean's towel hitting the ground sounding in the stillness of the room. Shortly after, Dean slid smoothly beneath the blankets. Cas kept his eyes closed and tucked his hands up under his head.

A couple of excruciatingly long seconds ticked by, and then Dean scooted closer, wrapping himself around Cas. He laid his head down on Cas's chest, his arm a solid weight over Cas's belly. Pride swelled in Cas's chest as he circled Dean with one of his arms in return—something about Dean trusting him, letting him comfort him like this warmed his entire body.

Dean yawned widely, then sleepily slurred, “’Night, Cas.”

Just as softly, Cas whispered, “’Night, Dean.”

Dean’s breathing evened out first. It was equal parts torture and endearing because Dean Winchester was naked, pressed up against him, and they were both way too tired to do anything about it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet again [@peanutbutter-jelly-fish](http://peanutbutter-jelly-fish.tumblr.com) slayed me with her art. T.T Don't forget to leave her some love. <3


	12. Chapter 12

* * *

The sensation of something warm and heavy draped half over his back woke Dean up gradually. It took his brain a minute to place what he was feeling—Cas was still asleep, head tucked against the side of Dean’s neck, his lips parted against the bare skin of Dean's shoulder. Even hot damp breaths puffed against Dean's skin, causing him to shiver.

One of Cas's legs was thrown over his, and Dean's face flamed when he registered that the thing poking him in the hip was Cas's hard-on. A rush of heated desire pulsed in Dean's gut and he couldn't help the quick grind of his hips as he pressed his morning wood down into the mattress.

He bit his lip on a groan at the resulting rush of pleasure. The jolt of motion must've woken Cas, 'cause he pressed a half-conscious kiss to where his lips were resting, and Dean’s arousal skyrocketed.

“Mmm. Morning,” Cas whispered, voice scratchy and low as he peeled himself back. Dean’s already fully hard cock throbbed against the mattress.

Breathlessly, he managed to get out a quiet, “Morning,” in reply. He bit his lip again and flushed crimson ’cause Cas had to know what he was feeling.

“I can hear your brain spinning, Dean. You don't need to be embarrassed. It's a normal reaction to waking up like this. And we don't have to do anything about it, if that's not what you want,” Cas paused, and Dean could hear a smile in his voice. “I could just close my eyes while you get dressed.”

Dean's stomach gave a little leap, and the warm feeling in his chest that Cas just constantly seemed to bring to the surface spread all through him. He could climb out of this bed, get dressed and Cas would be totally fine with that. But would Dean?

A quick little survey of how he felt said no—what he wanted, was to roll over and kiss Cas. To forget about everything that was going on and all of the questions he didn't have the answer to, and just  _ be with _ this boy that he’d fallen so hard for. He wanted to show Cas exactly what he was feeling.

So he gave into it; he rolled over, reached his hands up and tangled them in Cas's messy brown hair. His eyes locked on the bright blue of Cas's in the early morning sunlight as he tried to read every flicker of emotion in them.

Slowly, he pulled Cas down until their lips brushed soft, warm. Again and again, a little firmer each time until Cas sighed and Dean took the opportunity to slide his tongue lazily into his mouth. He tasted sweet enough that Dean briefly worried about his possible morning breath. Cas's hand, though, curling around his jaw and tilting him just right to deepen their kiss wiped any concerns away.

Cas kissed him like he was the best thing he'd ever tasted, like he couldn't ever get enough. Sharp little nips of his teeth sent heated surges of pleasure right to Dean's aching cock.

There was something so damn perfect about being with Cas like this. It was something he'd never expected he'd ever get to feel, and his heart was thundering in his chest, thumping wildly.

Dean slid his hand down the bare skin of Cas’s side and gripped his hip, tugging until Cas settled between his legs, stretched out over him—heavy and perfect. Heat clenched in his gut at the feel of Cas's silk-smooth skin all pressed up against him.

The slide of Cas's hot, hard length against his belly and the friction of Cas's against his own leaking cock was overwhelmingly good. Dean felt like he was burning up and he almost panicked but Cas was there, soothing him with kisses and slow rolls of his hips. Cas's cool skin in contrast to Dean’s—or maybe something else that Dean didn't fully understand—leached away some of the heat, making him feel safe.

“I got you,” Cas whispered softly against his lips.

“Yeah,” Dean panted, “I trust you.”

Cas shuddered against him, kissing a hot trail over Dean's jaw, along his neck. Pleasure burst bright in Dean when Cas bit down on his pulse point. He bucked up against Cas on a loud gasp—felt so good, and not enough.

He wanted more, so, so much more than this. “Touch me. Cas, please, God, touch me,” he begged.

Instantly, Cas shifted, trailing his hand down the center of Dean’s chest, lower over the smooth expanse of his belly, Dean's muscles twitching under his touch, until his fingers wrapped around the base of Dean’s straining cock. “Like that?” he asked and Dean threw his head back on a nod, breath hitching.

Cas stroked him achingly slow as he sucked and bit his way over Dean’s collarbones, making Dean arch, and shake, and moan for him—pleasure so much sharper than when it was just his own hand. “Cas… ah- _ ah _ …  _ Cas.” _

All Dean could do was hold on, fingertips digging into Cas’s back as he groaned and panted. He probably oughta be returning the favor, but it felt so good that he couldn't do anything other than  _ let  _ Cas. 

Moving lower and lower, Cas placed biting kisses over the soft skin of Dean’s belly, licked and sucked along his hip bones. Fuck, his cheek was so close to where he was stroking Dean ruthlessly that Dean felt the heat of it.

“Can I suck you off?” Cas asked, voice raspy and thick with desire—and Dean almost blew his load right then.

Shakily, he breathed in, his gaze locked on Cas’s dark eyes, full of heat and promise, and he’d never wanted anything more in his entire life than he wanted that, wanted Cas. “Yeah… I… yeah, please.”

Cas smiled up at him, predatory, and Dean’s breath left his chest in a rush. “Gonna make you feel so good, Dean.”

Then Cas made good on his promise; he licked a broad line up from the grip he had on the base of Dean’s cock, all the way to the swollen shiny pink head. Slick and hot, and Dean’s brain stuttered to a stop.

He watched, breathlessly, as Cas licked over his slit, dark pink tongue curling around it, then disappearing back into Cas's mouth. Instinctively, Dean’s hips hitched a little, and Cas smirked up at him so fucking sexy before he wrapped his lips around the head and sucked.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, his head slamming back onto the pillow.  _ “F-fuck, Cas.” _

In a flash he was already on the edge, cock surrounded by wet heat and suction,Cas licking at him while he used his hand to work up and down Dean’s cock. Clenching his stomach muscles, Dean tried so damn hard not to push up and bury himself in Cas's talented mouth, but fuck, it was incredible.

His hips twitched shallowly up, and Cas moaned encouragingly, sinking his mouth down around Dean until he was swallowing around him.

_ Fuck, fuck.  _ Sweat beaded on Dean's brow, trailing down along his temples in tickling lines. He threw his arm over his face, wiping away the sweat and left it draped over his eyes. His other hand gripped at the sheets beside him.

Cas hollowed his cheeks, drawing back up then sliding down again, over and over at an ever increasing speed. Dean trembled and moaned, barely holding himself back.

The hand Cas’d been gripping Dean's hip with found Dean’s fingers where they were clenched white knuckled in the sheets, and he laced their hands together. Warmth exploded in Dean’s chest, swelled along with the euphoric sensations that were shuddering through him. His whole body was straining tight, ready to snap, and fuck, he wanted it.

“Cas… I—Cas, I’m close,” he panted, throwing his hand up to brace it against the headboard, eyes fluttering open to focus on Cas. He was gorgeous; flushed pink cheeks, red lips stretched wide, and hair stuck up where Dean’d grabbed it. “God, your  _ mouth.” _

Cas just hummed around him and squeezed his hand. The heat that’d been banking in Dean's belly fractured out through his body—a shower of sparks pulsing from the base of his spine down into his toes and out to his fingertips. His hips jerked, his body seizing as he came messy and hard into Cas’s waiting mouth.  _ “Cas.” _

Slowly, Cas sucked him down one last time, and then pulled off with a final flick of his tongue as he went, making Dean gasp. For long seconds Dean floated, nearly unaware of his surroundings.

It was the slick sound of jerking off that finally brought him back. Heat tingling in his spent cock, he opened his eyes and found Cas kneeling between his legs, his fist pumping up and down his length, eyes hooded, head tipped back. The hottest goddamn thing Dean’d ever seen—way better than any late night porn site crawl he’d furtively indulged in.

“You’re gorgeous,” Dean breathed, flushing at his own words even as Cas’s lips curled up in a smirk.

Shyly, he reached down and slid his palms firmly up along Cas’s trembling thighs. He thumbed the sharp cut of his hips—fascinated with Cas's smooth skin and the way Cas let out this almost whimper.

“Dean, I’m going to—” he sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m close. Can I—you can say no… if it’s not okay—I want to come on you.”

Dean’s mouth flooded with saliva, his dick gave an achy jerk. “Yes. Cas, yeah. You're so damn hot.”

Eyes burning into Dean's, Cas’s strokes sped up. Dean licked his lips with anticipation, his gaze flickering between Cas’s face, and where the flushed red head of his cock kept disappearing into his fist. All of a sudden, Cas’s lips parted and his back arched as he came all over Dean's rapidly hardening dick, his stomach. Warm splashes of jizz that seared themselves into Dean’s memory.

_ Holy fucking hot. _ Dean was half-desperate for another round already and he groaned when Cas laid down beside him, kissing Dean hungrily as he lazily jerked him to full hardness again, the slide of Cas’s hand slick with his come.

Dean melted into it, harsh breaths and incoherent pleas swallowed up as Cas leaned his upper body over Dean and kissed him slow and sensual. Mercilessly dragging another scorching orgasm out of Dean.

Covered in come, filthy after—Dean couldn’t’ve cared less about the state they were in. Bonelessly, they both collapsed onto the bed, side by side and panting until Cas recovered enough to grab a towel from beside the bed. Gently, he wiped Dean down while Dean watched through sated, half-lidded eyes.

Once Cas’d cleaned himself up a bit too, he cuddled up against Dean’s side. His heart stuttered wildly as Cas laid his head on Dean’s chest, just over his heart.

Love bubbled up in him, along with an overpowering need to tell Cas about it, filling him up until he felt like he’d break apart if he didn’t. So he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Cas’s head and quietly whispered into his hair, “I love you, Cas.”

Against his chest, Cas’s cheek pulled up in a smile. “Love you, too.”

It turned out, those words on Cas’s lips were what’d break him open ’cause no way was his body big enough to contain everything he felt in that moment. His cheeks burned, and he held Cas tighter against him as his heart pounded desperately in his chest.

For a little while he let himself pretend that there was nothing ominous hanging overhead. No uncertainty about their future. No questions cluttering his mind about what was going on. For a little while—it was just them.

Eventually Cas broke the quietness with the suggestion that they ought to go shower. Despite the potential for things to heat up in there, they just washed off, trading warm wet kisses and standing under the spray together until the hot water gave out with a few loud clunks. Then they dried off, and dressed themselves.

Cas grimaced at his clothes once he’d pulled them on. “We should find a nearby mall. Get some food and clothes.”

In obvious agreement, Dean’s stomach rumbled much to Cas’s apparent amusement.  “I could eat,” Dean answered overly casual.

Cas laughed and Dean grinned proudly at him. Despite the danger of their situation, Dean felt miles better just hearing Cas laugh. They locked the door behind them as they left, fresh spring air pleasantly warm.

Something in the pit of Dean’s stomach told him this peaceful moment was only temporary, but he fought tooth and nail to push that down. “So, food first?”

Cas’s eyes crinkled at the corners a little bit when he smiled back at him, “Yes, Dean. Food first.” 

* * *

Lilith

* * *

  


The black wing back chair she was sitting in was comfortable, imposing in the center of the large ornately decorated room it was seated in. Her phone was in her lap, but Lilith wasn’t looking at it. Staring off at nothing, her mind was nearly silent as she waited.

On one wall a German cuckoo clock ticked away seconds, and her agitation slowly rose with each one. She didn’t  _ like _ to be kept waiting.

Just short of the moment her temper would’ve reached a boiling point, the guard posted outside of her door opened it. “Ma’am. He’s here.”

“Let him in,” she replied, tone bored.

A boy, maybe eighteen, but just barely, twitchy and terrified walked in and for a brief moment she thought,  _ that’s  _ him? That’s Dean Winchester?

“H-hi. I-I’m Max,” he stuttered, sweat beading on his forehead, eyes darting around the room instead of focusing on her. “Max Miller. Ruby… Ruby sent me. She… uh, she said if I delivered her—If I told you what she said—that y-you could get rid of my parents.”

Rage seethed beneath her surface, but she kept her face impassive as she stood. “Oh did she? Ruby can be so helpful, can’t she? Such a bleeding heart.”

Loudly, Max swallowed as she approached and stuttered, “I-I guess.”

“So,  _ Max,  _ what did my little Ruby send you to tell me?” she asked as she circled him.

“Dean Winchester’s gone. She said… she doesn’t know where to.”

The second the words left his mouth, Lilith’s temper snapped. She called her power without thinking, and Max gasped, clutching at his throat, clawing for air that wasn’t there. She watched, bored, as he struggled for life, face red and blotchy, tears pooling in his terrified eyes, and she felt nothing but the all consuming need to destroy.

He fell to his knees, lips blue-tinged and puffy. The last bit of life left his eyes as he pitched forward, and her momentary satisfaction gave way to more irritation.

She stomped over to the door and flung it open. The guard’s briefly startled eyes met hers and she calmly said, “Get someone in here to clean,” she pointed at the corpse cluttering up her room, “that up.”

“Of course, Lilith.”

He was on his radio as she marched back over to her seat and sat once more. Violently, she tossed her hair over her shoulder, and endeavored to look as though she wasn’t burning up with her anger.

This wasn't her plan. She’d almost had Dean Winchester and her victory had been snatched away. She needed his powers. One way or another, they’d find him. And whatever it took, she’d convince him to hand them over.  _ Whatever _ it took.

She swiped to unlock her phone and tapped on Ruby's contact number. It rang twice, and then she picked up. Slightly panicked breathing was audible over the line, and then, “Hi, Lilith.”

“I understand you lost him,” she said icily, “Unfortunate. Bring me his brother. And Ruby? Don't disappoint me again. Next time it won't just be the messenger who doesn't make it.”

“I'll get him. Sam trusts me.”

Glancing at her manicured nails, Lilith  smiled grimly. “Good. I'm not a patient person, Ruby. Don't make me wait.”

As she ended the call a knock tapped on her door. She narrowed her eyes. “Come in.”

Crowley entered, flanked by two men in suits. They headed for the body while Crowley walked over to her. She looked at him appreciatively, allowing her eyes to travel up from his shiny black shoes over the clean lines of his suit to settle on his face.

He cleared his throat, a faint smirk on his lips she absurdly found charming. “News travels fast. I hear we have a little problem. How might I be of service?”

She liked Crowley. He was useful, unlike a lot of her other followers. He was resourceful, he'd help her free Lucifer and when the Winter Prince rose, they'd be rewarded with places at his side. Where they rightfully belonged. No more hiding, no more fear of discovery.

She needed Dean Winchester to open the cage in which the Winter King had trapped Lucifer all those years ago. He had the key. When that old man’d escaped, she'd slaughtered everyone involved in the botched operation. There'd been no sign of where he'd gone, though they'd searched.

Oh, they'd searched every inch of that forest. Every person who'd been there that night tracked down, interrogated. It'd taken a damn long time—almost eighteen years—to uncover the bit of lore that finally shed enough light for her to put the pieces together.

Michael hadn't escaped—he'd died. He'd bestowed his powers on Mary Winchester's unborn child that night. And what a good job he'd done of concealing them with the last of his energy. If it hadn't been for a still frame parking lot camera and a paranoid park ranger who’d kept rooms full of printouts, they'd’ve never known about the beautiful black car and its occupants having been in the woods that night.

But she knew them now and one way or another—Dean Winchester was going to help her unlock the cage. The leverage she needed was on its way.  _ Fly away all you want little birdy, _ she thought, _ you're mine now. _

They'd just had breakfast at a local diner care of the last of Cas’s cash, and driven two towns over to a Walmart for clothes and supplies. They figured if someone tracked Cas's debit card at least it wouldn't lead them right to them. They were still in the parking lot when Dean's phone rang. He'd shut it off the night before and had turned it on a few minutes ago to quickly check on his parents and Sam.

His mom wanted him to call, but he didn't know if he could handle hearing the concern in her voice without breaking down. The last thing they needed was for Dean to have a meltdown and go nuclear right now. Reluctantly, she'd accepted his explanation with the caveat that he kept in contact with her until the police sorted out what was going on. She'd told him to be safe.

Sam's name lit up the screen and Dean bit his lip. He watched it go to voicemail with a conflicted sinking feeling of guilt in his stomach. Then it rang again and Dean frowned. There was no chance he could ignore a second call from Sam. He glanced over at Cas as he swiped to answer.

“Sammy?”

Cold fear lanced through Dean when an unfamiliar woman's voice spoke, “I'm sorry, Dean. Sammy can't come to the phone right now. He's a little tied up.”

“Who are you? What did you do to Sam?” Dean demanded, eyes shut tightly, like that would block out whatever was happening. How was this even possible? He'd just texted with his mom. She’d’ve mentioned if anything had happened. If Sam was missing, then why hadn't she said so?

“Aw, Sam’s fine. Aren't you? Come on, say hi, Sam.”

There was a pained grunt, unmistakably Sam's, and Dean's whole body trembled with sudden rage—his skin instantly tight and too hot. He tried not to picture it, but Sam's face twisted in pain swam behind his eyes.

Cas slipped his hand into Dean's like he was trying to keep him calm, but Dean was infuriated like he hadn't ever been before. He shot past the point of mindlessness, and settled into a cold hatred.

“I'm Lilith, by the way,” she said, voice light. “So now that we know each other, let's talk. I have something you want, and you have something  _ I _ want. Why don't we make a little trade, Dean?”

“How do I know you'll keep up your end of the deal?” he asked, then clenched his jaw.

“I always keep my word, Dean. And besides, it's not like you actually have a choice.” She laughed. “You come to meet me or I kill little brother. And Dean? I'll do it so slow that he'll beg me to end it. I won't let it end, though, not until I strip every last inch of skin from his body, and that's just to start. So what's it gonna be? Trade or torture?”

Fury trickled down Dean’s spine and tingled icy along his scalp. He was gonna get Sam, and then he was gonna damn well destroy every single person involved in this. Coming after him was one thing. Endangering his family and hurting his brother? Threatening the people that Dean had dedicated his whole life to protecting?  _ No. _ They didn't get to walk away from that.

Voice grim with determination he growled, “Trade.”

“Good choice. I'll text you a location and a time. See you there, Dean.”

There was something wrong with Dean. He was explaining what'd happened to Cas, but he wasn't all there. He was cold when he shouldn't be. Not physically—he was actually running warmer than what Cas had come to know was his usual—but emotionally. His tone was devoid of feeling as he was relaying the facts and a sick feeling sank in Cas's gut; Dean was going to do something stupid, he knew it and he didn't have a damn clue how to stop him.

“We need a plan,” Cas said faintly, but Dean wouldn't look at him.

“Plan is, I walk in there, save Sam and burn it all down.” There was a spark of fearlessness in Dean's voice that scared the crap out of Cas.  

He grabbed Dean's arm and forced Dean to look at him, “That's not a plan, that's reckless.” Dean’s eyes narrowed, and Cas mirthlessly chuckled. “Okay, if you don't like… uh,  _ reckless _ , I could use  _ insouciant _ maybe. Dean, this is insane. What chance do we have against these people?”

_ “We _ ain't got a chance at anything, Cas. Just me. You're staying behind.”  A little bit of emotion seeped back into Dean’s voice, “I don't want you to get hurt.”

Like hell he was gonna stay behind. He glared at Dean, mouth set in a firm line, angry, protective, and resolved all at once. “No. I'll go with you.”

Dean frowned and he looked like he was about to object but Cas crossed his arms over his chest, face stony. He'd just gotten to be with Dean, he wasn't going to sit on his ass and lose him without a fight. It just wasn't happening. “Suck it up, Dean. It's not optional. If you're gonna be stupid, then I'm going there with you.”

For long enough to border on uncomfortable, they just stared at one another in a stalemate. Why was Dean so stubborn? And courageous, and self-sacrificing? There was no way that Cas was going to give in on this. He watched Dean's jaw tick, and relax again.

“Fine,” Dean finally muttered as he started up the car. “But if it goes sideways, promise me you'll get out of there. That you'll stay safe, no matter what, Cas.”

Guilt flared in his gut, but Cas looked Dean in the eye as he lied, “Okay.”

That seemed to placate Dean and he looked down when his phone chimed. “Got an address more than half-way home. Gotta be there at midnight. How fucking cliché is that?”

“Very,” Cas replied.

Eight p.m. found them in a diner roughly twenty minutes away from where they were supposed to meet Lilith. Neither of them were in the mood to eat—it felt too much like a last meal. So they ordered coffee and tried to act normal. Cas had just taken another tepid half-decent sip when the bells above the door chimed and attracted his attention.

A scruffy looking guy over thirty in a long black trench coat looked right at them as soon as he was in the door. The hairs on the back of Cas's neck stood up. His shoulders tensing as the guy walked toward them, Cas's fingers clutched the butter knife from the table tightly, as if it’d be any real help.

Dark fae glamour practically poured off of the guy, thanks to it he was basically invisible to the other diners. No one so much as glanced at him. The shark-like smirk on his face when he glanced down and saw Cas's white knuckled grip set Cas even more on edge.

“Hello, boys,” he said in a smarmy British accent, stopping at the their table. Instantaneously, Cas disliked him. “The name’s Crowley. We have quite a bit to discuss, and very limited time. So listen closely, don't be stupid, and just  _ maybe _ we all live to see another sunrise.”

Brows raised, Dean frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Lilith ring any bells?”

Cas’s stomach heaved and alarm bells went off in his head, full tilt. Dean stiffened too—and for a crazy minute, Cas thought they were about to fight their way out of this somehow.

“Settle down, boys. If I intended to harm you, he—” Crowley pointed at Cas, “would be dead already and you,” he pointed at Dean, “would’ve fried me to a bloody crisp along with the rest of this charming little restaurant. So, let’s agree, that at present I’m not a threat and stop the posturing. What do you say?”

“If you’re not… if you’re not a threat, then what do you want with us? And how do you know about Lilith?” Dean asked, arms crossing.

“Lilith and I… we have a complicated history. For efficiency’s sake, our opinions currently differ to such a degree that I’m inclined to help you instead.” He grinned a little at them and it was anything but friendly. “As for why I’m here, I have information you need before you rush stupidly in to do your little heroic suicidal march into that warehouse.”

Cas shared a glance with Dean, then looked back to Crowley. “What information?”

“Let’s start with how pretty boy over there,” he nodded at Dean, “is the key to unlocking The Winter Prince’s cage, which is why Lilith would love to get her blood red claws on him. His powers are the key that pops the lock on Lucifer’s prison.”

The Winter Prince was a story every fae knew—the first of The Winter King’s creations in ancient times, he was a son to The King. Unfortunately his nature turned much darker than The King had anticipated. He was twisted, sadistic and uncontrollable.

With the threat of war looming between the Courts over his transgressions, The King had finally had no choice. He'd trapped The Winter Prince in the darkest, deepest pit in an unbreakable cage.

Cas’s brows furrowed, and he stared at Dean confused, the look of shock on Dean’s face was much more exaggerated than the one Cas knew was on his own. Hadn’t he thought there was something different about Dean’s powers? Hadn’t he wondered why?

Dean’s stunned silence gave way to loud questions, “How? I’m just a fire elemental!”

Crowley leaned forward and placed his palms on the table to glare at Dean, drawing Cas’s gaze back to him, “Don’t be a moron, of course you aren't  _ just _ a fire elemental, I  _ told you _ you're the  _ key. _ Pay attention because I absolutely do not have time to explain all the ins and outs or repeat myself before Lilith notices my absence. Suffice it to say that without you, she cannot open the cage.” He paused and took a breath. “So I suggest, you and your little boytoy over there tuck tail and run before she unleashes the worst of The Winter Princes from his cage.”

There were so many questions Cas wanted to ask, but what came out was, “Why are you helping us?”

Crowley’s lips curled up in a lopsided smile as he straightened back up. “I'm not. I'm helping me. She thinks, they all think—The Winter Prince fanatics—that he'll rule over us benevolently. Those who serve him anyway, while he commands destruction upon you lot.”

“But you don't,” Cas shrewdly observed, “you think they're wrong.”

“I  _ know _ they're wrong. Lucifer was known as the worst of The Winter Princes for a reason. There was always something off about him, he was always brutal. How do you think millenia trapped by himself in a box that The Winter King imprisoned him in will have affected his mind?”

Crowley’s eyebrows rose expectantly, and when they stayed silent, he rolled them and continued, “If he's not batshit crazy and murders all of us, then he'll be an even bigger sadist than he already was  _ and bloody murder  _ all _ of us!  _ So boys, one last warning: run, and don't look back.”

He stared them down for a moment and then in a puff of dark red demon smoke he was gone. That settled any questions Cas might’ve had about exactly what kind of dark fae he was. In the wake of his departure, the questions in Cas’s mind—his fears about what was to come grew.

If Dean wasn’t a fire elemental, then what was he? What if this was some sort of trap Lilith had devised? But if it was, what possible ends could she accomplish by giving them that information? To put it mildly, Cas was spooked. Dean, on the other hand, seemed more determined than ever.

Neither of them said anything as Cas paid up front, and they headed out the door. On the walk to the car he looked over at Dean as he stuffed his hands into his jean’s pockets. “So what do we do with that?”

“Nothing, I guess.” Dean shrugged a shoulder. “I can’t leave Sam. He’s my brother, and he had nothing to do with this. I’m also not gonna let Lilith get her hands on me.” His eyes were chillingly vacant as he told Cas,”If it comes down to it, I'll detonate myself before I ever let her use me. At least I’ll take them with me.”

Frosty cold horror crackled out from the pit of Cas’s stomach at Dean’s words.  _ No. _ Desperately, he hauled Dean around with a fist in the material on his shoulder. He slammed him up against the car and kissed Dean hard and deep until he was sure Dean felt the need radiating off of him. Until Dean was kissing him back just as desperately. He buried his fingers in Dean’s hair, tugging on it. Dean’s hands squeezed tighter on his biceps.

Aching in his chest, Cas’s heart was torn raw. “Don't,” he brokenly whispered. “You can't leave me.”

Dean pressed another kiss to Cas's lips, and the ache in his chest intensified. “I don't want to, sweetheart. You know that.”

“So just don't.” Cas knew he sounded broken, begging Dean for a promise he might not be able to keep. He didn't care. This—Dean—was too important. Too necessary. And every single particle of his entire being was rebelling over the idea of Dean dying, no matter how noble the sacrifice.

Dean didn't answer, just pulled him into a hug that Cas wished he could stay in forever. With Dean warm, safe, and solid in his arms. There were words on the tip of his tongue, heavy ones. Words full of devotion and affection, desire, a million feelings all at once, but he couldn’t get them out right now—not without losing what little composure he had left, so he just buried his face in Dean’s neck and held on. For as long as he could, Cas wanted to hold on to him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm completely in love with the gorgeous art that [@peanutbutter-jelly-fish](http://peanutbutter-jelly-fish.tumblr.com) did for this chapter. Make sure you give her some love. <3<3


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, so, [@peanutbutter-jelly-fish](http://peanutbutter-jelly-fish.tumblr.com)   
>  & I have decided to post the rest of the story as is, and she'll update with the art when she's able. You've all been so patiently waiting for the conclusion to this and we both appreciate that so much. I'm going to be editing and posting the last chapters tonight. <3

# Chapter 12

 

* * *

It was dark out when they got to the abandoned warehouse they were instructed to show up at. Foreboding. And Dean figured he oughta be scared. He oughta be, but he wasn't. An eerie calm’d settled over him.

 

They’d parked a couple blocks away and had come closer on foot. Cas’s idea—something about parking far enough away that the car would be safe so they could get out of there fast after they got Sam. Dean didn’t have the heart to tell him that his gut feeling said that he wasn’t walking away from this. Instead, he’d quietly slipped his keys into Cas’s jacket pocket when he’d kissed him one last time at the car. For luck, he’d told Cas.

The fond smirk on Cas’s face was almost enough to melt the ice that’d settled over Dean, and he smiled back like he was normal.

Now he glanced over at the haunted, concerned look on Cas’s face. The worried crease of his brow, his dark eyes vigilant, and his lips drawn in a line as tense as his shoulders. In the shadows of an alley one street down from the building where they were paused, Cas tilted his head up to the dark sky like he was looking for divine patience. “So, what, we’re just gonna charge in through the front door?”

“That’s the plan,” Dean said again. Even if they scouted it first, their odds were shit. Ten to one they were gonna be outnumbered, outgunned—considering they had no guns, that was a given—out maneuvered. The only thing Dean figured they had on their side, was that they were ten minutes early, and they had the element of surprise. Whatever that counted for. “Just remember, I distract them, you get Sam. Then we’ll all get out.”

Sure, that last part was a lie, but Dean said it like he believed it, and Cas bought it. His face softened and he said, “I won’t forget.”

“Good. Let’s do this.”

Before Cas could answer, Dean strolled leisurely up to the grey steel door on the front of the rundown-looking warehouse. Cas was right on his heels when he pushed the door open and walked in.

As soon as they stepped inside any vague plans Dean’d had that he was gonna use his powers and save Sam flew right out the window. All over the walls,there was strange warding. His powers locked up tight in his chest and the harder he tried to pull at it, the tighter it compressed. What the hell was happening?

Cas grabbed onto his wrist and Dean looked up; they were surrounded by soldiers, guns drawn on them. Inside, Dean was finally panicking a little but he didn't let the people who surround them see that. He didn’t let Cas see it. God, he never should’ve let Cas come with him. How was Dean supposed to protect him now?

A pretty woman with blonde wavy hair stood in the center of the room, wearing a slinky white ball gown. The smirk on her face was ugly, cruel. Lilith, he guessed, and when she spoke he recognized her voice from the phone call.

“Aw, aren't you so brave, just marching right in here,” she said, eyes glittering with barely contained joy.

Fury simmered beneath Dean's skin, and the ball of power in his chest expanded slightly and then tightened back down twice as hard. He couldn’t help his wince, pain spiking through his torso.

“Really, Dean? You thought we wouldn't know how to ward against your powers? And you brought an incubus… to help how exactly?” she gave Cas a slow once over that made Dean’s skin crawl. “He _is_ adorable, though, I’ll give you that. Maybe I'll play with him later, but right now, you have something _I_ want and _I_ have Sam. So, let’s get this little trade over with.”

A girl no older than Sam with long brown hair and big brown eyes walked out of the shadows along the far wall with her hand on Sam's arm as she dragged him along. He looked a little banged up but okay. Sam's eyes focused fearfully on Dean. Rage sang along every nerve ending Dean had but it didn't matter because he couldn't touch his power.

Frustration and hopelessness were an angry weight on his chest, he fought against it as hard as he could. He didn't get anything for it except another jolt of pain and his power tamping down harder. A grunt escaped past his gritted teeth and Cas's hand closed over Dean's arm to steady him.

Lilith laughed. “Aw, look at you trying _so_ hard to get at your power, but you can't, Dean. These wards—they all work in conjunction to _keep you_ from calling your magic.”

Like he didn’t fucking know that. Dean glared hatefully at her. If there was some way he could disrupt the warding he'd burn them all to the ground. And though he didn’t answer her, he hoped she could tell exactly what he was thinking by the murderous look on his face.

“I know you haven't got a clue what I'm talking about, but you're special. That's why your power is so much easier for you to call than it is for others.” She shrugged, flinging her her arms out, a half smile on her face that almost looked sympathetic before her eyes narrowed. “It's strong, older than you can imagine, and it's _mine.”_

“You're crazy,” Dean replied, inching in front of Cas. Maybe he couldn’t protect him with his powers, but he could shield him with his body if he needed to.

Lilith’s grin was amused, dangerous. “Maybe. Not when it comes to this though.” She widened her eyes like an idea had just come to her, the worst acting Dean’d ever had the misfortune to witness. “I _know._ Let's try a little spell,” she walked closer to him. “If you haven't got what I'm looking for, nothing will happen. If you do, I'll take it and you, and your brother, and your _friend_ can go. No harm, no foul.”

Sam was looking at him, pleading in his eyes, like he thought Dean could still save him, but if he did what she wanted, she was gonna use him to let out unspeakable evil. And Dean had a sinking feeling that she'd kill them all anyway, just to watch them bleed. It didn’t stop the part of him that wished he could just give her what she wanted, and they could let someone else deal with the aftermath.

“Oh yeah, and what about your plans to spring Lucifer from his cage?” Dean lifted his chin defiantly. “You just gonna let us walk away from that.”

The false humor in Lilith’s expression instantly vanished. “You're a smart boy. Or someone's been talking too much, but I'll tell you what Dean. You help me get him out, I'll guarantee you a place in his army. High ranking. You'll have respect, you'll have control. You can have it all.”

As if anything about that offer was tempting. As if Dean would ever willingly put himself before anyone. His ambitions in life were so much simpler than that: keep everyone safe. So, no, he wasn’t gonna accept a bargain that wrecked the world to save himself. “Yeah, sure, and what? Help him torch half the planet?”

Lilith laughed again, somehow even crueler than before, unhinged. A shiver Dean couldn’t suppress rolled down his spine. “Half the planet, Dean? Try the _whole_ planet. He's going to make us a new kingdom on earth. A _better_ kingdom.”

Steadily, Dean kept his eyes on her. “Uh-huh. And how many people are gonna die in the process?”

She grinned wide. “Who cares? We'll thrive.”

Dean didn't even bother to debate. He crossed his arms and his mind scrambled for a way out of this. A way to save Sam, save them all, but his mouth shot off all on its own. “Yeah, no thanks.”

“No thanks?” Lilith wrinkled her nose, grinning. “It's funny that you think you have a choice here.”

In a flash, she closed the distance between them and wrapped her hand around his throat. There was absolutely nothing Dean could do. His hands gripped her wrist, fingers digging into her skin, and his legs dangled. She didn’t even flinch as his nails drew blood. She was so fucking strong. How was she that strong?

Dean's vision greyed, and his ears buzzed. He couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t fight for it anymore—his grip weakened. Unconsciousness loomed heavily over him and begged him to disappear into it. Distantly, he heard Sam shouting his name. Wind began whipping around the room but Dean barely felt it.

All of a sudden there was a loud crack and Dean's power surged free in his chest. He didn’t have time to put two and two together, or wonder why the hell he was suddenly unbound, he just grabbed onto Lilith's arm and unleashed everything he had. Burning so fucking hot, he couldn't control it. Lilith lit up from the inside like a goddamn Roman candle and her grip on his throat dropped away.

Dean landed hard on his feet, watching as blue fire consume her until she was nothing but ash and he still couldn't stop.

His eyes briefly locked on Sam's, then flashed to Cas, who was walking toward him, hands raised while Lilith's minions ran like the rats they were. Dean didn't let them. Righteous vengeance boiled over inside of him and he burned them all. Short lived screams echoed, but Dean was too far gone to care. His skin was too hot, his whole body on fire.

Cas was trying to soothe him—Dean knew that. On the edges of his awareness he heard Cas's wrecked voice pleading for Dean to stop.

“It’s over, Dean,” Cas said, face almost glowing in the flickering blue light of Dean's flames, his eyes too-bright, too-blue. “Come on, baby, you have to stop now. Push it back down. Let me help,” he reached out his hand, but Dean shook his head and stepped quickly out of reach.

There was no stopping—not now. Cas might have been able to help him bleed off a little bit of energy before, but with sudden clarity Dean understood that if Cas touched him right now, he’d burn up too.

Dean's voice broke as he spoke just loud enough for Cas to hear him over the roar of flames licking along his skin. “Cas, you can't help me. You gotta get Sammy! You get him and you _run outside._ You got that? You take him and you run! Just like you said, remember? You promised me, Cas.”

“Dean!” Cas's eyes were wet and he hesitated.

“Now, Cas! _Please?_ You gotta.” Cas had to do this for him. He had to let him go. Dean poured every last bit of his desperate pleading into his gaze, begging Cas with words and without. “Cas, sweetheart, please.”

He actually saw Cas's heart shattering in slow motion—just blue and pain and despair in his eyes. His own heart broke for Cas’s suffering, but he could still save him, could still save Sam. “Sweetheart, I love you, but I can't hold on.” Dean’s voice faltered again and a tear slipped down his cheek. “You gotta go.”

And then Sam was suddenly there and he was the one dragging Cas outside, not the other way around, this sad look of determination on his face and Dean was grateful. So damn grateful. Love for both of them swelled up in his chest, and another tear slipped down his cheek.

Sam was smaller than Cas and Cas was struggling to stay but Sam yelled as he tugged on on him. “Cas, we gotta get out!”

Shouting for Dean, his face wet and eyes shining, Cas fought against Sam. “Dean! No! _Dean!”_

There was nothing Dean could do except give Cas one last soft smile and tell him, “Go, Cas, you gotta go.”

All of the fight drained out of him and he allowed Sam to pull him out of the building, his agonized gaze on Dean every step of the way like he was trying to memorize everything about him. Dean let himself do the same.

As soon as they were out of sight, Dean closed his eyes and let the fire consume him. All of the heat he'd barely been holding back escaped. He looked down at his hands and noticed that his clothing had burned away, his skin was blue and there were dark grey marks all over his arms that looked like tattoos—like feathers. That was weird. He took one last breath right before his skin turned to dust and everything went blissfully black.


	14. Chapter 14

# Chapter 13

* * *

 

There was nothing left of the building they were just in. It'd been all of five minutes since Sam had quite literally pulled him from the flames and there was nothing left—that was how fast it’d burned. That was how much power Dean'd been holding back for them. Blue flames had consumed the entire building in moments and rendered it into a pile of ash and debris.

And he'd thought… some part of Cas had still thought that Dean would be standing right there when the building burned away. Elementals couldn't hurt themselves with their own fire, right? So _why_ wasn't Dean standing there? The answer of course, had been plainly stated by both Lilith and Crowley: Dean _wasn’t_ an elemental.

His chest ached. Hollow. Empty. And he just _knew_ with a sick certainty _—_ Dean was gone. The part of him that always felt a tug to Dean was blank, untethered. It was like being jaggedly ripped in half; something intrinsic stolen. His eyes burned, but tears didn’t come. The ones he’d already shed had dried in streaks on his face, and he was numb. Eviscerated.

Cas stood unmoving, his lips parted around quick breaths that weren't drawing in enough air. What if that was how he’d feel for the rest of his life? Like without Dean, he couldn’t get a full breath in. How was he supposed to exist without his _soulmate?_

Sam’s hand was still warm on Cas's shoulder, as though he was ready to restrain him even though all that was left was a smoking pile of ashes and Cas wasn’t resisting anymore. Cas looked back at him and noticed Sam's face was wet with tears that were still streaming from his eyes, his cheeks were stained with soot. The pain in Sam’s expression cracked the numb cold that’d spread in Cas’s chest and his vision blurred, more tears finally welling up. Dean was gone.

Where did that leave them?

“What the—” Sam breathed, and Cas’s gaze followed Sam’s over to a pile of ashes that were glowing faintly bue. Whatever Sam finished his sentence with was inaudible over the blood pulsing in Cas's ears because that tug in his gut suddenly gave a hard yank and he stumbled forward involuntarily.

The glow brightened, pulses of blue lighting up the darkness. He only made it a few steps before Sam got his arms wrapped around Cas's waist from behind, restraining him. “Cas, no! You don't know what that is!”

“Dean,” Cas gasped just as a blinding blue light blazed so brilliantly it forced his eyes closed.

 

Everything was hazy when he opened his eyes. He blinked to clear his vision. How—was he… was he alive? Suddenly, the only thing filling up his field of vision was blue again, bright and glassy, wet. Dean tilted his head, he thought someone was talking to him but his brain was partially offline. It was like the feeling right after surfacing from a really good sleep. He blinked again and everything came sharply back into focus.

“Cas?” He didn't get out more than that before Cas's arms were snug around his shoulders and his face was tucked wetly into Dean's neck. A second later Sam was hugging him too, face pressing in on the other side of his neck, equally wet, and Dean had a minute of relief—just overwhelmingly glad that they were both okay, even if he was confused as hell.

And then a gust of wind blew by and he realized with a shock of embarrassment that he was… totally buck ass naked.

“What the hell happened?” he demanded, eyes wide, cheeks flushing hotly. “Why the hell am I naked?”

Sam seemed to notice how goddamn weird that was right about the same time Dean did and he let go with a grossed out look on his face. Cas, on the other hand, stayed right where he was, like he didn't give a damn. Honestly, he probably didn’t.

“I'll field that question.” Came a vaguely familiar accented voice. “First…” Fingers snapped and with a rustle, Dean was suddenly dressed. He looked down at the the pair of blue jeans and the grey Henley he was wearing. Huh. Neat trick, but he still bristled. “You're welcome.”

“Who are you?” Sam demanded just as Dean looked up at Crowley with narrowed eyes.

He rolled his eyes, but answered anyway. “Crowley, dear. Try to keep up—”

“If you’re here to try and hurt any of us…” Dean kicked at the ashes beneath his feet, gaze harsh. “This is what happened to the last people who tried that.”

Crowley tutted. “Do I _look_ particularly moronic to you? I’m only here to give you some more information, and if perchance, you want to be free of your _gift_ or _curse—_ whichever you choose to call it—I can make that happen. If you want to keep it, no skin off my back, but I digress.”

Yeah, right. He was clearly hoping Dean would choose to get rid of his power.

“Just tell us what he is,” Cas said impatiently.

Longsufferingly, Crowley sighed. “Dean Winchester is a phoenix.”

“They’re extinct!” Sam cut in. “I did a project on the mythology.”

Crowley smirked, a know it all look on his face that Dean sort of wanted to punch, but he was being at least a little helpful, so he curbed his impulse. “Wrong. They’re _nearly_ extinct. Dean is the last.”

“How?” Dean asked, eyebrows raised, a mixture of uncertainty and the rightness of what Crowley was saying at war with each other.

Sam spoke up again. “They could gift their powers. When they wanted to die they could gift them to someone so they wouldn’t be reborn from the ashes. But Dean’s never had that happen to him.” His eyes flashed to Dean. “Have you?”

Dean shook his head. “Yeah, no. Bet I’d remember that.”

“If you would _shut up_ long enough for me to speak, we’d all have the answers, wouldn’t we?” Crowley stared at them, then continued. “It happened well before you were ever born. I'll make this short so that you can follow along: Lilith was trying to capture the only remaining phoenix, he escaped, happened across a newly pregnant Mother Mary and ta-da, a baby phoenix was brought into being.”

Unsure of what exactly he oughta be feeling, Dean just wrinkled his nose. Crowley’s explanation felt weirdly right to him, like he knew it was the truth. The power in his chest hummed with the knowledge of it. So he was a phoenix. How was that supposed to make him feel? Was he any less dangerous now that he knew?

Considering that he’d just burned a warehouse full of people to death, signs pointed to no. The general ambivalence and lack of guilt he felt about that also pointed to no. A small part of him piped up with something about shock, but that wasn’t quite it. It was more like the people he’d hurt were monsters in his mind. They'd intended to harm Sam and Cas, and they’d needed to be stopped.

Even so, didn't it make him a monster for being the one to do it? That was where his thoughts divided.

“Okay,” Dean said. “So I’m a phoenix. What’s that mean?”

Crowley smiled. “So, you’ve got the fiery death part obviously, and the whole rebirth through fire. Other than that, not much, oh, except the lovely fact that your tears can heal. Great wounds, too, so I’m told.” Dean’s brows rose. Interesting. “It can be difficult to control a phoenix’s power, however. Especially when they’re young. So… again… if you’d like, I can take the power for you. Leave you as the fire elemental you were meant to be.”

Dean didn’t bother to answer, he just toed at ashes again, and Crowley quickly caught his drift.

“Fair enough.”

Dean didn't trust Crowley as far as he could throw him, but he didn't seem to be threatening at the moment. For someone who said he was there to offer to take Dean’s powers, it didn’t seem like he was all that upset with a no. “Why are you really here? ‘Cause I know it ain’t for a heart to heart about me.”

Crowley’s lips pulled up in a smirk. “Can’t get anything past you. I came to see if Lilith was really dead.” He shrugged a nonchalant shoulder. “I needed to confirm it. Now that she’s out of the way, I’m going to pull a coup with those of her followers who are left.” Dean’s temperature rose as he bristled, but Crowley rolled his eyes. “Don't worry, we won't be after Lucifer. As if I’d give up my new position for him.”

That Dean bought.

Just like earlier, Crowley took his leave by way of a whirl of demon smoke, leaving them standing in the rubble.

Cas’s fingers twined with Dean’s, and Dean finally stopped holding his breath. He finally inhaled deeply. Cas looked exhausted and wrung out. Sam was no better. Dean flung his arm around his brother’s shoulders.

"So, air, huh?" Dean asked Sam.

Sam ducked his head. "Looks like."

Cas glanced over at Sam with wide eyes. "Was that you? You  _saved_ us."

"Hardly," Sam argued. "I just... pitched in."

Chuckling, Dean squeezed them both. “Let’s go home.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanna take a moment to say a big thank you to [@peanutbutter-jelly-fish](http://peanutbutter-jelly-fish.tumblr.com), without whom this fic wouldn't exist. We came up with a lot of the idea together, and she actually came up with the phoenix twist, which I absolutely loved. Working with her has been such a pleasure, and I'm so proud of what we created. <3

 

 

# Chapter 14

 

* * *

 

 

After they’d gone back to Dean's house, and his mom and dad had seen Dean was okay. After Cas and Sam had each taken turns showering off the smoke and dirt, and Cas had dressed in Dean's borrowed clothes. After Dean had made himself cry to test out the whole healing thing on the cuts and bruises that Sam'd sustained—which had turned out to be true, Sam looked good as new now—Dean had asked if Cas could spend the night. His cheeks had been bright pink, and he kind of looked like he wished the ground would swallow him up, but he’d gotten it out.

Surprisingly, John and Mary were cool about it. Even though Mary was pale from worry she’d winked at them, and said that she couldn't imagine separating them after an ordeal like that. Cas had smiled through his exhaustion, and then Mary had sent them all up to bed for some much needed rest.

They wound up in Dean's room, laying in his bed, under the covers in just their boxers. The steady thumping of Dean's heartbeat under his ear, the heavy warmth of Dean's arms around him, breathed relief into Cas's lungs. Fear still clung to the edges of his mind, so he pressed in closer and held on to Dean tighter.

He'd lost him. Even if it’d been temporary in the end, he’d lost Dean. Cas couldn't forget the aching emptiness he'd felt in those long minutes without him. The pain of losing the person he loved most in the whole world was still raw and fresh. And God, he was so lucky that Dean was here. That he was alive, and safe, but it didn't stop that worried knot in his chest that wondered how he would've survived without him. That kept asking, _what if?_

Dean's lips pressed softly to his hair, and Cas squeezed his eyes shut at the flood of warmth in his chest. “I'm right here, Cas.”

He nodded, and breathed out slowly, trying to let go of his fears, at least for now. “I know.”

For a bit it was quiet between them and Cas pressed a soft kiss to Dean's chest. “Are you okay? What Crowley said, what happened was a lot.”

He felt Dean's hesitation before he spoke. “I don't know. I mean… I don't feel bad that I killed all those people. I… I should, but I don't.” Almost absently, his thumb rubbed circles on the bare skin of Cas's back. “All I feel is relieved that they can't hurt you or Sam now.” He inhaled a shaky breath and blew it out. “Cas, I didn't hesitate. I didn't even flinch. I mean, for you or my family, the things I'm willin' to do or kill… it just… uh, it scares me.”

Dean might be worried his morals were skewed or something was wrong with him, but Cas didn't share that concern. Not even a little bit. He knew Dean more intimately than he’d known anyone else before, and he _knew_ down to his core that Dean was a good person.

“You did what you had to, Dean. You didn't have a choice. Lilith forced you into that situation, and if you don't feel guilty about it, then good. You shouldn't have to feel bad about saving us.” Cas paused to sort his thoughts and let that sink in. “But if the shock of everything wears off, and you end up feeling bad, that's okay too. Just talk to me, okay?”

Another kiss pressed to his hair, soft, warm breath against his scalp and Cas felt a small smile pull at his lips. Softly, Dean said, “Okay.”

They quieted down again after that. The darkness and their exhaustion pushed them swiftly to sleep.

 

Mid-morning sunlight woke Dean up gradually. This time he was the one curled around Cas. Both of them were on their sides, Dean's face buried in dark brown hair that was tickling his nose. Cas smelled like Dean's shampoo, and for some reason that curled heat low in his gut.

He smiled to himself at the grip Cas had on his forearm where it was banded over his hips, like even in his sleep he needed to hold onto Dean. A rush of love for Cas pooled in his chest, and he wished that they could always wake up like that. Hell, maybe they could.

With a smile still curling on his lips, he trailed teasing closed mouth kisses along Cas's shoulder, up the side of his neck. A stutter in Cas's breathing and the way his grip on Dean's arm tightened let him know Cas was awake. “Morning,” he whispered into the skin just beneath Cas's ear.

“Good m—” Dean sucked and nipped at the patch of skin his lips rested against, and Cas's words cut off with a hot groan that sent a jolt of arousal straight to where Dean realized he was hard against Cas's ass. At the same time, Cas seemed to notice too, because he pushed back into it, grinding slowly against him and Dean was the one groaning then.

Everything only got hotter when Cas pushed Dean's hand down until it brushed over the tent in his borrowed boxer-briefs. Heat and hardness beneath his palm rushed blood south so fast that Dean was almost dizzy with it. He rubbed his palm along the length of Cas's cock, then circled it over the head,  listening to the quickening of Cas's breaths and leaning up to watch a flush spread over his cheeks and steal down his chest. So fucking hot.

Dean slid his fingertips just slightly beneath the waistband of Cas's underwear. “Is this okay?”

Cas's voice was rough and breathy. “Yes. Ah, please.”

Dean bit his lip on a smirk as he slipped his hand all the way into Cas's underwear, curling his fingers around the hard length of him, silky skin blood-hot. He couldn't get over the feel of it, similar and yet so different to the feel of his own.

There was something carnally sexy about jerking Cas, off, making him feel good, that was intoxicating. The sounds Cas made were a heady thrill Dean wanted more of. He tightened his grip, throwing in a flick of his wrist on the upstroke that he always liked. Judging by the way Cas's hips pushed up into Dean's hand, he liked it too.

“Fuck, Dean.”

“Mmm. Wanna fuck me, Cas?”

Instantly, Cas's hand clamped down on Dean's wrist and stilled his motion. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Dean smirked, cheeks blazing when Cas caught his breath and rolled over toward him.

After a moment Cas roughly managed, “For future reference, you can’t say that while you’re jerking me off and expect me _not_ to come.”

Smugly, Dean’s lips curled into a teasing smile. “Evidence says I can.”

Cas narrowed his eyes at him. “That was by the skin of my teeth.”

“Mhmm,” Dean capitulated as he pulled Cas further toward him, into a bruising kiss. The sweet taste that filled his mouth was unmistakably Cas. “You always taste so good.”

Against his lips, Cas smiled. “Perk.” He pulled back a little to look up into Dean’s eyes. “One of many that’ll come in handy if you were serious earlier.”

“Very serious,” Dean said, then flushed darker, eyes dropping to Cas’s chest. “If you wanna. I just… I love you. I want you.”

Under his chin, Cas’s curled fingers pushed up until Dean met his gaze again. “Trust me, Dean, I want you just as much. In every way imaginable, I want you. There’s nothing to be shy about. I want to know everything you want, and I want to give it to you. I couldn’t be more completely yours. So trust that I love you too.”

Like the blushing virgin he pretty much was, Dean’s teeth dug into his bottom lip as his eyes fluttered closed. “I trust you.”

“Good.” Cas’s voice was warm with satisfaction and Dean opened his eyes again to look at him, to see that affection aimed at him. “Like I said, my powers come in handy. Benefit of being an incubus means I can do pretty much anything to enhance sex when I want to, though I rarely do.” Cas smirked at him, so sexy Dean bit back a groan. “I prefer to take my partner apart without any tricks. To know it’s _me_ they’re falling apart for.”

So turned on that he was barely thinking straight, Dean shuddered. Cas leaned closer, lips right next to Dean’s ear as he quietly said, “But maybe sometime we can play and I’ll show you everything I can do.”

“Fuck,” Dean whispered on a shaky exhale.

“Good idea,” Cas replied, voice low and seductive.

With a kiss that stole what little breath Dean had left, Cas pushed him back down on the mattress. He sucked at Dean’s bottom lip until it was sensitive, swollen, then he brushed the tip of his tongue along it and made Dean gasp.

After that, Cas slowly kissed his way down Dean’s body. Anticipation built up between them in steady waves the lower he got. Sucking little hot kisses along Dean’s waistband, a soft brush of Cas's cheek against the head of his cock setting off sparks behind Dean's eyes.

“Cas,” he gasped, needy and desperate already.

Cas just hummed before he peeled them both out of their underwear, and grabbed a pillow that he propped Dean’s hips up with. “Sure this is what you want?” he asked from where he’d settled between Dean’s legs, blue eyes blazing.

“Yeah, fuck. _Please,_ Cas.”

As Cas kissed bruises into his thighs, the cut of his groin, Dean threw his head back on a moan. Pleasure pulsed through him, made him lightheaded and hazy—out of control in the best way.

Then two of Cas’s fingers, warm and somehow perfectly slick, pressed firm circles around Dean’s rim. And fuck, oh God, he didn’t know what he’d expected, but those vibrant sparks of sensation were so much better than he'd imagined. For a while, Cas just teased Dean like that, working him up to a fevered pitch with hardly any effort.

“Cas, c’mon,” Dean groaned, legs already trembling, fingers white knuckling in the sheets, his hard cock leaking onto his stomach.

One finger pressed blessedly in and Dean sighed his relief. There was a slight burn that took him a second to adjust to, different, a little weird at first, but he liked it. Not long after, one finger became two, and the slick slide, the stretch of it made Dean’s toes curl, kept him drunk on the feeling of Cas _inside_ of him.

The perfect curl of his fingers shuddered a shock of pleasure up Dean’s spine. “Holy fuck,” Dean gasped, eyes slamming tightly shut with how good it was.

“Thought you’d like that,” Cas mumbled, scraping his teeth along Dean’s hipbone as he did it again, and Dean panted, hips twitching restlessly. He wanted to wrap a hand around his cock, frantically in need of touch there—but if he did that, it'd be game over and Dean wanted this to last even more than he craved release.

“C’mon. Cas, c’mon,” Dean groaned impatiently as he dug his heels into the mattress and pushed back on Cas’s fingers, fucking himself on them.

“God, Dean,” Cas whispered, sounding awed in a way that made Dean’s cheeks heat and his stomach twist with a kind of pride he’d never felt before.

A third finger pressed at Dean’s rim and after a little resistance, it slid right in beside the others. Fuck, he was so full—stretched wide around Cas’s thrusting, twisting, fingers—and it still didn’t feel like enough, wasn’t what he wanted, not really. Cas’s free hand stroked his thigh soothingly, and Dean realized with a start that he was begging Cas for more.

“Almost,” Cas told him softly, “You're doing so good, Dean. God, you’re so tight and so fucking hot. Can’t wait to be inside you.”

“Cas, please. Need you,” Dean begged, voice wrecked. There was no room for shyness or shame because his whole existence was focused on how badly he needed Cas.

“Yeah,” Cas finally breathed. “Yes, okay.”

His fingers withdrew and seconds later he crawled up Dean’s body, catching him in a hot kiss as he lined his cock up and pushed steadily into Dean. A single wet, thick slide of heat, nothing but intense pleasure to accompany. Did Cas do that on purpose? Had he used his powers to ease the discomfort of Dean's first time? When Cas started to move, he rapidly lost his train of thought.

His thrusts were fast, right off the bat, like he couldn’t help himself, like being in Dean felt good enough to shatter any control he had. And fuck it was so damn awesome.

Dean’s fingernails scraped down Cas’s back and the room filled with the sound of slapping skin, their grunts and moans. His orgasm was hurtling toward him, right at the tips of his fingers when Cas suddenly slowed down.

He hooked Dean’s legs around his waist and propped his weight on one forearm as he rolled his hips sensually, slow drags of his cock in and almost out of Dean. Goosebumps prickled up over Dean’s skin as Cas slid his hand up along the side of his neck, kissing him deep and tender with slow pushes of his tongue into Dean’s mouth that mimicked the way he was fucking him. Every nerve in Dean’s body was resonating with Cas’s movements.

“Cas,” Dean whispered, overwhelmed with just how good Cas made him feel, body coiled tight.

“Love you,” Cas grunted as he sped his thrusts, building them up again, faster and faster. Like he knew just what Dean needed.

“God,” Dean panted, fingers digging into the muscles of Cas's back. “Love you so much.”

Body quaking, he took Dean right up to the edge, breathless and frantic. For one wild moment Dean was suspended there, climax so goddamn close, but just out of reach and then Cas’s hand wrapped snuggly around Dean's cock, stroking him quick and dirty.

Dean seized up, his heartbeat thundering loud and fast in his ears. “Cas, ah, _Castiel.”_

His fingers pressed hard into Cas’s back as the heat gathering at the base of his spine pulsed sharply outward. Shockwaves of pleasure lit up behind his closed eyes and he moaned helplessly through it.

Seconds later, while he was still spurting hot and slick between their bellies, Cas stiffened above him, coming with a groan, cock twitching inside of Dean and inspiring a primal, blazing reaction in him. Fuck, he already wanted to do this again and again.

Contentedly, Dean melted into the bed as Cas collapsed heavy over top of him with a breathless chuckle. He buried his face in Dean’s neck as their breathing slowed, skin sticking messily together, warmth between them that kept out the slight chill of the room.

Eventually the heat of their afterglow faded and they lazily cleaned themselves up before they climbed under the covers again with Dean spooned behind Cas, arm wrapped snugly over his waist—pretty much exactly as they’d been when they woke up.

“So how was your first time?” Cas asked gently.

Dean grinned. “Looking for a performance evaluation, Cas?”

Cas's burst of laughter made Dean grin wider. He loved being the cause of it. “Not so much a performance evaluation as ensuring you enjoyed everything.”

Amusement filled him up and warmed his cheeks. “Like you couldn't tell.” He pressed a kiss behind Cas's ear, then admitted, “It was good, Cas. Pretty damn awesome. Did you use your power to make it easier? And the lube?”

“Yes and yes.” Dean heard the smirk in Cas's voice even if he couldn't see it. “I didn't want to cause you any discomfort.”

“Well you didn't, so brownie points I guess,” Dean paused, and then ignoring the increased burning in his cheeks made himself continue, “I'm glad it was you. I'm… uh, I'm glad it's you.”

He hoped that Cas got what he was talking about: their whole soulmate deal. Leaning back to look at him, the affection on Cas's face said he did. “I'm glad it’s you, too.”

Dean wanted to shake his head, mystified that Cas could feel that way about him with all that'd happened, but the sincerity in his voice was plain as day. Cas made it impossible not to believe him.

“How are you feeling today?” Cas asked. “Death, rebirth, everything?”

Dean allowed himself time to reflect on how exactly he felt. “My powers seem more controllable now that I know what they are, now that some of the energy’s bled off.” He bit his lip and let himself take better stock of the fact that it no longer felt like he needed to push his power down constantly. “I'm gonna talk to doctor Lafitte and see if he can help me do some research into phoenix’s. I trust him to keep it under wraps.”

Cas nodded. “I think that's a good idea.” His cheeks pinked up and he rolled over more fully to face Dean. “I don't know what your plans are after graduation—”

“Haven't got any,” Dean interrupted; he didn't have a sweet clue what he was gonna do, hadn't ever let himself consider the possibilities because there wasn't _anything_ he could safely see himself doing. He grinned when he realized now he could.

“What if you planned to move in with me?” Cas nervously asked, blue eyes wide and focused on Dean’s.

“Okay,” Dean said, no hesitation. He might not have other plans for the future yet, but that? That he wanted.

Wide and happy, Cas grinned at him. “Good. I thought about asking if you wanted to do it now, but I'm pretty sure your mom would kill me and then your dad would hide my body.”

Dean laughed and ducked his head, “Yeah, probably.”

A little shyly Cas said, “You know, you're really smart, Dean. Maybe you could take some courses at the community college while you figure out what you want to do.”

And for the first time when Dean really thought about the future, he didn't see some blank, dark, nothing. He had hope. He had Cas. And that? That was a pretty damn good start.


End file.
